THE 

SORROWS 
OF  SATAN 

MARIE   CORELLI 


V 


'^ 


^J 


:B^  /Bbarie  Corclli. 

BARABBAS. 

A    DREAM    OF    THE   WOKLd's   TRAGEDY. 

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"  Vividly  told,  historically  correct,  as  to  its  settings,  it 
carries  the  reader  entranced  through  its  swift  panorama 
of  events." — Louisville  Christian  Observer. 

"  By  most  secular  critics  the  authoress  was  accused  of 
bad  taste,  bad  art,  and  gross  blasphemy  ;  but,  in  curious 
contrast,  most  of  the  religious  papers  acknowledged  the 
reverence  of  treatment  and  the  dignity  of  conception 
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VENDETTA; 

Or,  The  Story  of  One  Forgotten. 

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"  A  romance,  but  a  romance  of  reality.  No  mind  of 
man  can  imagine  incidents  so  wonderful,  so  amazing  as 
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Republican. 


The  Sorrows  of  Satjn 

OR 

THE  STRANGE  EXPERIENCE  OF  ONE 
GEOFFREY    TEMPEST,    MILLIONAIRE 


A  ROMANCE 

By 

Marie  Corelli 

AUTHOR       OF      "  BARA 


PHILADELPHIA 

J,   B.   LIPPINCOTT    COMPANY 

1896 


Copyright,  1895, 

BY 

J.  B.  LippiNcoTT  Company. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia,  U.S.A. 


K^    U^     ' 


ri7£  SORROWS  OFSJiTAN 


Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  poor  ?  Not  poor  with  the 
arrogant  poverty  complained  of  by  certain  people  who  have 
five  or  six  thousand  a  year  to  live  upon,  and  who  yet  swear 
they  can  hardly  manage  to  make  both  ends  meet,  but  really 
poor, — downright,  cruelly,  hideously  poor,  with  a  poverty 
that  is  graceless,  sordid  and  miserable?  Poverty  that  com- 
pels you  to  dress  in  your  one  suit  of  clothes  till  it  is  worn 
threadbare, — that  denies  you  clean  linen  on  account  of  the 
ruinous  charges  of  washerwomen, — that  robs  you  of  your  own 
self-respect  and  causes  you  to  slink  along  the  streets  vaguely 
abashed,  instead  of  walking  erect  among  your  fellow-men 
in  independent  ease, — this  is  the  sort  of  poverty  I  mean. 
This  is  the  grinding  curse  that  keeps  down  noble  aspiration 
under  a  load  of  ignoble  care ;  this  is  the  moral  cancer  that 
eats  into  the  heart  of  an  otherwise  well-intentioned  human 
creature  and  makes  him  envious  and  malignant,  and  inclined 
to  the  use  of  dynamite.  When  he  sees  the  fat  idle  woman  of 
society  passing  by  in  her  luxurious  carriage,  lolling  back 
lazily,  her  face  mottled  with  the  purple  and  red  signs  of  super- 
fluous eating, — when  he  observes  the  brainless  and  sensual 
man  of  fashion  smoking  and  dawdling  away  the  hours  in  the 
Park  as  if  all  the  world  and  its  millions  of  honest  hard  workers 
were  created  solely  for  the  casual  diversion  of  the  so-called 
*  upper'  classes, — then  the  good  blood  in  him  turns  to  gall 
and  his  suffering  spirit  rises  in  fierce  rebellion  crying  out — 
''Why  in  God's  name,  should  this  injustice  be?  Why 
should  a  worthless  lounger  have  his  pockets  full  of  gold  by 

i^  5 


IS~\  C^  -r^  p^  ^}  /i 


6  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

mere  chance  and  heritage,  while  I,  toihng  wearily  from  morn 
till  midnight,  can  scarce  afford  myself  a  satisfying  meal?" 
'  •  .Why  indeed -I  .  Why  should  the  wicked  flourish  like  a  green 
bay-tree  ?'♦' I '  Ka^Je '  <!>ften  thought  about  it.  Now  however 
J  .l;)e4i?;ve.I-cpul^  X^lp'to  solve  the  problem  out  of  my  own 
personal- 'experience.'- '-But  .  .  .  such  an  experience!  Who 
will  credit  it?  Who  will  believe  that  anything  so  strange 
and  terrific  ever  chanced  to  the  lot  of  a  mortal  man  ?  No 
one.  Yet  it  is  true  ; — truer  than  much  so-called  truth.  More- 
over I  know  that  many  men  are  living  through  many  such  in- 
cidents as  have  occurred  to  me,  under  precisely  the  same  influ- 
ence, conscious  perhaps  at  times  that  they  are  in  the  tangles 
of  sin,  but  too  weak  of  will  to  break  the  net  in  which  they 
have  become  voluntarily  imprisoned.  Will  they  be  taught,  I 
wonder,  the  lesson  I  have  learned  ?  In  the  same  bitter  school, 
under  the  same  formidable  taskmaster?  Will  they  realize  as 
I  have  been  forced  to  do, — aye,  to  the  very  fibres  of  my  in- 
tellectual perception, — the  vast,  individual,  active  Mind, which 
behind  all  matter,  works  unceasingly,  though  silently,  a  very 
eternal  and  positive  God?  If  so,  then  dark  problems  will 
become  clear  to  them,  and  what  seems  injustice  in  the  world 
will  prove  pure  equity  !  But  I  do  not  write  with  any  hope 
of  either  persuading  or  enlightening  my  fellow-men.  I  know 
their  obstinacy  too  well; — I  can  gauge  it  by  my  own.  My 
proud  belief  in  myself  was,  at  one  time,  not  to  be  outdone  by 
any  human  unit  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  And  I  am  aware 
that  others  are  in  similar  case.  I  merely  intend  to  relate  the 
various  incidents  of  my  career  in  due  order  exactly  as  they 
happened, — leaving  to  more  confident  heads  the  business  of 
propounding  and  answering  the  riddles  of  human  existence  as 
best  they  may. 

During  a  certain  bitter  winter,  long  remembered  for  its 
arctic  severity,  when  a  great  wave  of  intense  cold  spread 
freezing  influences  not  alone  over  the  happy  isles  of  Britain, 
but  throughout  all  Europe,  I,  Geoffrey  Tempest,  was  alone  in 
London  and  well-nigh  starving.      Now  a  starving  man  seldom 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  7 

gets  the  sympathy  he  merits, — so  few  can  be  persuaded  to 
believe  in  him.  Worthy  folks  who  have  just  fed  to  repletion 
are  the  most  incredulous,  some  of  them  being  even  moved  to 
smile  when  told  of  existing  hungry  people,  much  as  if  these 
were  occasional  jests  invented  for  after-dinner  amusement. 
Or,  with  that  irritating  vagueness  of  attention  which  character- 
izes fashionable  folk  to  such  an  extent  that  when  asking  a 
question  they  neither  wait  for  the  answer  nor  understand  it 
when  given,  the  well-dined  groups,  hearing  of  some  one  starved 
to  death  will  idly  murmur  '  How  dreadful !'  and  at  once  turn 
to  the  discussion  of  the  latest  '  fad'  for  killing  time,  ere  it 
takes  to  killing  them  with  sheer  ennui.  The  pronounced  fact 
of  being  hungry  sounds  coarse  and  common,  and  is  not  a  topic 
for  polite  society,  which  always  eats  more  than  sufficient  for 
its  needs.  At  the  period  I  am  speaking  of  however,  I,  who 
have  since  been  one  of  the  most  envied  of  men,  knew  the  cruel 
meaning  of  the  word  hunger  too  well, — the  gnawing  pain, 
the  sick  faintness,  the  deadly  stupor,  the  insatiable  animal 
craving  for  mere  food,  all  of  which  sensations  are  frightful 
enough  to  those  who  are,  unhappily,  daily  inured  to  them, 
but  which  when  they  afflict  one  who  has  been  tenderly  reared 
and  brought  up  to  consider  himself  a  'gentleman,' — God 
save  the  mark  !  are  perhaps  still  more  painful  to  bear.  And 
I  felt  that  I  had  not  deserved  to  suffer  the  wretchedness  in 
which  I  found  myself.  I  had  worked  hard.  From  the  time 
my  father  died,  leaving  me  to  discover  that  every  penny  of 
the  fortune  I  imagined  he  possessed  was  due  to  swarming 
creditors,  and  that  nothing  of  all  our  house  and  estate  was  left 
to  me  except  a  jewelled  miniature  of  my  mother  who  had  lost 
her  own  life  in  giving  me  birth, — from  that  time  I  say,  I  had 
put  my  shoulder  to  the  wheel  and  toiled  late  and  early.  I  had 
turned  my  University  education  to  the  only  use  for  which  it 
or  I  seemed  fitted, — literature.  I  had  sought  for  employment 
on  almost  every  journal  in  London, — refused  by  many,  taken 
on  trial  by  some,  but  getting  steady  pay  from  none.  Who- 
ever seeks  to  live  by  brain  and  pen  alone  is,  at  the  beginning 


8  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

of  such  a  career,  treated  as  a  sort  of  social  pariah.  Nobody- 
wants  him, — everybody  despises  him.  His  efforts  are  derided, 
his  manuscripts  are  flung  back  to  him  unread,  and  he  is  less 
cared  for  than  the  condemned  murderer  in  gaol.  The  mur- 
derer is  at  least  fed  and  clothed, — a  worthy  clergyman  visits 
him,  and  his  gaoler  will  occasionally  condescend  to  play  cards 
with  him.  But  a  man  gifted  with  original  thoughts  and  the 
power  of  expressing  them,  appears  to  be  regarded  by  everyone 
in  authority  as  much  worse  than  the  worst  criminal,  and  all 
the  *  jacks-in-ofifice'  unite  to  kick  him  to  death  if  they  can.  I 
took  both  kicks  and  blows  in  a  sullen  silence  and  lived  on, — 
not  for  the  love  of  life,  but  simply  because  I  scorned  the 
cowardice  of  self-destruction.  I  was  young  enough  not  to 
part  with  hope  too  easily ; — the  vague  idea  I  had  that  my 
turn  would  come, — that  the  ever-circling  wheel  of  Fortune 
would  perchance  lift  me  up  some  day  as  it  now  crushed  me 
down,  kept  me  just  wearily  capable  of  continuing  existence, — 
though  it  was  merely  a  continuance  and  no  more.  For  about 
six  months  I  got  some  reviewing  work  on  a  w^ell-known 
literary  journal.  Thirty  novels  a  week  were  sent  to  me  to 
'  criticise,' — I  made  a  habit  of  glancing  hastily  at  about  eight 
or  ten  of  them,  and  writing  one  column  of  rattling  abuse  con- 
cerning these  thus  casually  selected, — the  remainder  were 
never  noticed  at  all.  I  found  that  this  mode  of  action  was 
considered  '  smart, '  and  I  managed  for  a  time  to  please  my 
editor  who  paid  me  the  munificent  sum  of  fifteen  shillings  for 
my  weekly  labour.  But  on  one  fatal  occasion  I  happened  to 
change  my  tactics  and  warmly  praised  a  work  which  my  own 
conscience  told  me  was  both  original  and  excellent.  The 
author  of  it  happened  to  be  an  old  enemy  of  the  proprietor  of 
the  journal  on  which  I  was  employed ; — my  eulogistic  review 
of  the  hated  individual,  unfortunately  for  me,  appeared,  with 
the  result  that  private  spite  outweighed  public  justice  and  I 
was  immediately  dismissed. 

After  this  I   dragged  on   in  a  sufficiently  miserable  way, 
doing   '  hack  work'    for  the  dailies,   and  living  on  promises 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  9 

that  never  became  realities,  till,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  early 
January  of  the  bitter  winter  alluded  to,  I  found  myself  literally 
penniless  and  face  to  face  with  starvation,  owing  a  month's 
rent  besides  for  the  poor  lodging  I  occupied  in  a  back  street 
not  far  from  the  British  Museum.  I  had  been  out  all  day 
trudging  from  one  newspaper  office  to  another,  seeking  for 
work  and  finding  none.  Every  available  post  was  filled.  I 
had  also  tried,  unsuccessfully,  to  dispose  of  a  manuscript  of 
my  own, — a  work  of  fiction  which  I  knew  had  some  merit, 
but  which  all  the  '  readers'  in  the  publishing  offices  appeared 
to  find  exceptionally  worthless.  These  'readers',  I  learned, 
were  most  of  them  novelists  themselves,  who  read  other  peo- 
ple's productions  in  their  spare  moments  and  passed  judgment 
on  them.  I  have  always  failed  to  see  the  justice  of  this 
arrangement ;  to  me  it  seems  merely  the  way  to  foster  me- 
diocrities and  suppress  originality.  Common  sense  points 
out  the  fact  that  the  novelist  '  reader'  who  has  a  place  to 
maintain  for  himself  in  literature  would  naturally  rather  en- 
courage work  that  is  likely  to  prove  ephemeral,  than  that 
which  might  possibly  take  a  higher  footing  than  his  own. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  and  however  good  or  bad  the  system,  it 
was  entirely  prejudicial  to  me  and  my  literary  offspring.  The 
last  publisher  I  tried  was  a  kindly  man  who  looked  at  my 
shabby  clothes  and  gaunt  face  with  some  commiseration. 

''I'm  sorry,"  said  he,  "very  sorry,  but  my  readers  are 
quite  unanimous.  From  what  I  can  learn,  it  seems  to  me 
you  have  been  too  earnest.  And  also,  rather  sarcastic  in  cer- 
tain strictures  against  society.  My  dear  fellow,  that  won't 
do.  Never  blame  society, — it  buys  books !  Now  if  you 
could  write  a  smart  love-story,  slightly  risque, — even  a  little 
more  than  risque  for  that  matter,  that  is  the  sort  of  thing 
that  suits  the  present  age." 

"Pardon  me,"  I  interposed  somewhat  wearily — "but  are 
you  sure  you  judge  the  public  taste  correctly?" 

He  smiled  a  bland  smile  of  indulgent  amusement  at  what 
he  no  doubt  considered  my  ignorance  in  putting  such  a  query. 


10  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"  Of  course  I  am  sure," — he  replied —  '*  It  is  my  business 
ix)  know  the  public  taste  as  thoroughly  as  I  know  my  own 
pocket.  Understand  me, — I  don't  suggest  that  you  should 
write  a  book  on  any  positively  indecent  subject, — that  can  be 
safely  left  to  the  'New'  woman," — and  he  laughed, — *'but  I 
assure  you  high-class  fiction  doesn't  sell.  The  critics  don't 
like  it  to  begin  with.  What  goes  down  with  them  and  with 
the  public  is  a  bit  of  sensational  realism  told  in  terse  news- 
paper English.  Literary  English, — Addisonian  English, — is 
a  mistake." 

"And  I  am  also  a  mistake  I  think,"  I  said  with  a  forced 
smile.  —  "At  any  rate  if  what  you  say  be  true,  I  must  lay 
down  the  pen  and  try  another  trade.  I  am  old-fashioned 
enough  to  consider  Literature  as  the  highest  of  all  professions, 
and  I  would  rather  not  join  in  with  those  who  voluntarily  de- 
grade it." 

He  gave  me  a  quick  side-glance  of  mingled  incredulity  and 
depreciation. 

"Well,  well!"  he  finally  observed — "you  are  a  little 
quixotic.  That  will  wear  off.  Will  you  come  on  to  my  club 
and  dine  with  me?" 

I  refused  this  invitation  promptly.  I  knew  the  man  saw 
and  recognised  my  wretched  plight, — and  pride — false  pride 
if  you  will — rose  up  to  my  rescue.  I  bade  him  a  hurried 
good-day,  and  started  back  to  my  lodging,  carrying  my  re- 
jected manuscript  with  me.  Arrived  there,  my  landlady  met 
me  as  I  was  about  to  ascend  the  stairs  and  asked  me  whether 
I  would  '  kindly  settle  accounts'  the  next  day.  She  spoke 
civilly  enough,  poor  soul,  and  not  without  a  certain  compas- 
sionate hesitation  in  her  manner.  Her  evident  pity  for  me 
galled  my  spirit  as  much  as  the  publisher's  offer  of  a  dinner 
had  wounded  my  pride, — and  with  a  perfectly  audacious  air 
of  certainty  I  at  once  promised  her  the  money  at  the  time  she 
herself  appointed,  though  I  had  not  the  least  idea  where  or 
how  I  should  get  the  required  sum.  Once  past  her,  and  shut 
in  my  own  room,  I  flung  my  useless  manuscript  on  the  floor 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  ii 

and  myself  into  a  chair,  and swore.     It  refreshed  me  to 

swear  and  it  seemed  natural, — for  though  temporarily  weak- 
ened by  lack  of  food  I  was  not  yet  so  weak  as  to  shed  tears, 
— and  a  fierce  formidable  oath  was  to  me  the  same  sort  of 
physical  relief  which  I  imagine  a  fit  of  weeping  may  be  to  an 
excitable  woman.  Just  as  I  could  not  shed  tears,  so  was  I 
incapable  of  apostrophizing  God  in  my  despair.  To  speak 
frankly,  I  did  not  believe  in  any  God — the?i.  I  was  to  myself 
an  all-sufficing  mortal,  scorning  the  time-worn  superstitions 
of  so-called  religion.  Of  course  I  had  been  brought  up  in  the 
Christian  faith ;  but  that  creed  had  become  worse  than  useless 
to  me  since  I  had  intellectually  realized  the  utter  inefficiency 
of  Christian  ministers  to  deal  with  difficult  life-problems. 
Spiritually  I  was  adrift  in  chaos, — mentally  I  was  hindered 
both  in  thought  and  achievement, — bodily  I  was  reduced  to 
want.  My  case  was  desperate, — I  myself  was  desperate.  It 
was  a  moment  when  if  ever  good  and  evil  angels  play  a  game 
of  chance  for  a  man's  soul,  they  were  surely  throwing  the  dice 
on  the  last  wager  for  mine.  And  yet,  with  it  all,  I  felt  I  had 
done  my  best.  I  was  driven  into  a  corner  by  my  fellow-men 
who  grudged  me  space  to  live  in,  but  I  had  fought  against 
it.  I  had  worked  honestly  and  patiently ; — all  to  no  purpose. 
I  knew  of  rogues  who  gained  plenty  of  money;  and  of 
knaves  who  were  amassing  large  fortunes.  Their  prosperity 
appeared  to  prove  that  honesty  after  all  was  not  the  best 
policy.  What  should  I  do  then  ?  How  should  I  begin  the 
Jesuitical  business  of  committing  evil  that  good,  personal 
good,  might  come  of  it  ?  So  I  thought,  dully,  if  such  stray 
half-stupefied  fancies  as  I  was  capable  of,  deserved  the  name 
of  thought. 

The  night  was  bitter  cold.  My  hands  were  numbed,  and  I 
tried  to  warm  them  at  the  oil-lamp  my  landlady  was  good 
enough  to  still  allow  me  the  use  of,  in  spite  of  delayed  cash- 
payments.  As  I  did  so,  I  noticed  three  letters  on  the  table, 
— one  in  a  long  blue  envelope  suggestive  of  either  a  summons 
or  a  returned  manuscript, — one  bearing  the  Melbourne  post- 


12  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

mark,  and  the  third  a  thick  square  missive  coroneted  in  red 
and  gold  at  the  back.  I  turned  over  all  three  indifferently, 
and  selecting  the  one  from  Australia,  balanced  it  in  my  hand 
a  moment  before  opening  it.  I  knew  from  whom  it  came,  and 
idly  wondered  what  news  it  brought  me.  Some  months  previ- 
ously I  had  written  a  detailed  account  of  my  increasing  debts 
and  difficulties  to  an  old  college  chum,  who  finding  England 
too  narrow  for  his  ambition,  had  gone  out  to  the  wider  new 
world  on  a  speculative  quest  of  gold  mining.  He  was  getting 
on  well,  so  I  understood,  and  had  secured  a  fairly  substantial 
position,  and  I  had  therefore  ventured  to  ask  him  point-blank 
for  the  loan  of  fifty  pounds.  Here,  no  doubt,  was  his  reply, 
and  I  hesitated  before  breaking  the  seal. 

''  Of  course  it  will  be  a  refusal,"  I  said  half-aloud, — "  How- 
ever kindly  a  friend  may  otherwise  be,  he  soon  turns  crusty  if 
asked  to  lend  money.  He  will  express  many  regrets,  accuse 
trade  and  the  general  bad  times,  and  hope  I  will  soon  '  tide 
over.'  I  know  the  sort  of  thing.  Well, — after  all,  why 
should  I  expect  him  to  be  different  to  other  men?  I've  no 
claim  on  him  beyond  the  memory  of  a  few  sentimental  arm- 
in-arm  days  at  Oxford." 

A  sigh  escaped  me  in  spite  of  myself,  and  a  mist  blurred 
my  sight  for  the  moment.  Again  I  saw  the  grey  towers  of 
peaceful  Magdalen,  and  the  fair  green  trees  shading  the  walks 
in  and  around  the  dear  old  University  town  where  we, — I  and 
the  man  whose  letter  I  now  held  in  my  hand,  strolled  about 
together  as  happy  youths,  fancying  that  we  were  young  geniuses 
born  to  regenerate  the  world.  We  were  both  fond  of  classics, 
— we  were  brimful  of  Homer  and  the  thoughts  and  maxims  of 
all  the  immortal  Greeks  and  Latins, — and  I  verily  believe  in 
those  imaginative  days  we  thought  we  had  in  us  such  stuff  as 
heroes  are  made  of.  But  our  entrance  into  the  social  arena 
soon  robbed  us  of  our  sublime  conceit, — we  were  common 
working  units,  no  more, — the  grind  and  prose  of  daily  life  put 
Homer  into  the  background,  and  we  soon  discovered  that 
society  was  more  interested   in  the  latest  unsavoury  scandal 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  13 

than  in  the  tragedies  of  Sophocles  or  the  wisdom  of  Plato. 
Well !  it  was  no  doubt  extremely  foolish  of  us  to  dream  that 
we  might  help  to  regenerate  a  world  in  which  both  Plato  and 
Christ  appear  to  have  failed, — yet  the  most  hardened  cynic 
will  scarcely  deny  that  it  is  pleasant  to  look  back  to  the  days 
of  his  youth  if  he  can  think  that  at  least  then,  if  only  once  in 
his  life,  he  had  noble  impulses. 

The  lamp  burned  badly,  and  I  had  to  re-trim  it  before  I 
could  settle  down  to  read  my  friend's  letter.  Next  door  some- 
one was  playing  a  violin,  and  playing  it  well.  Tenderly  and 
yet  with  a  certain  amount  of  brio  the  notes  came  dancing  from 
the  bow,  and  I  listened,  vaguely  pleased.  Being  faint  with 
hunger  I  was  somewhat  in  a  listless  state  bordering  on  stupor, 
— and  the  penetrating  sweetness  of  the  music  appealing  to  the 
sensuous  and  aesthetic  part  of  me,  drowned  for  the  moment 
mere  animal  craving. 

*' There  you  go  !"  I  murmured,  apostrophizing  the  unseen 
musician, — ''practising  away  on  that  friendly  fiddle  of  yours, 
— no  doubt  for  a  mere  pittance  which  barely  keeps  you  alive. 
Possibly  you  are  some  poor  wretch  in  a  cheap  orchestra, — 
or  you  might  even  be  a  street-player  and  be  able  to  live  in 
this  neighbourhood  of  the  elite  starving, — you  can  have  no 
hope  whatever  of  being  the  '  fashion'  and  making  your  bow 
before  Royalty, — or  if  you  have  that  hope  it  is  wildly  mis- 
placed. Play  on,  my  friend,  play  on  ! — the  sounds  you  make 
are  very  agreeable  and  seem  to  imply  that  you  are  happy.  I 
wonder  if  you  are  ? — or  if,  like  me,  you  are  going  rapidly  to 
the  devil ! ' ' 

The  music  grew  softer  and  more  plaintive  and  was  now  ac- 
companied by  the  rattle  of  hailstones  against  the  window- 
panes.  A  gusty  wind  whistled  under  the  door  and  roared 
down  the  chimney, — a  wind  cold  as  the  grasp  of  death  and 
searching  as  a  probing  knife.  I  shivered, — and  bending  close 
over  the  smoky  lamp,  prepared  to  read  my  Australian  news. 
As  I  opened  the  envelope,  a  bill  for  fifty  pounds,  payable  to 
me  at  a  well-known  London  banker's,  fell  out  upon  the  table. 


14  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

My  heart  gave  a  quick  bound  of  mingled  relief  and  grati- 
tude. 

''Why  Jack,  old  fellow,  I  wronged  you!"  I  exclaimed, — 
"  your  heart  is  in  the  right  place  after  all. " 

And  profoundly  touched  by  my  friend's  ready  generosity, 
I  eagerly  perused  his  letter.  It  was  not  very  long  and  had 
evidently  been  written  off  in  haste. 

"  Dear  Geoff, 

I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  are  down  on 
your  luck ;  it  shows  what  a  crop  of  fools  are  still  flourishing 
in  London,  when  a  man  of  your  capability  cannot  gain  his 
proper  place  in  the  world  of  letters,  and  be  fittingly  acknow- 
ledged. I  believe  it's  all  a  question  of  wire-pulling,  and 
money  is  the  only  thing  that  will  pull  the  wires.  Here's  the 
fifty  you  ask  for  and  welcome, — don't  hurry  about  paying  it 
back.  I  am  doing  you  a  good  turn  this  year  by  sending  you 
a  friend, — a  real  friend  mind  you  ! — no  sham.  He  brings  you 
a  letter  of  introduction  from  me,  and  between  ourselves,  old 
man,  you  cannot  do  better  than  put  yourself  and  your  literary 
affairs  entirely  in  his  hands.  He  knows  everybody,  and  is  up 
to  all  the  dodges  of  editorial  management  and  newspaper 
cliques.  He  is  a  great  philanthropist  besides, — and  seems 
particularly  fond  of  the  society  of  the  clergy.  Rather  a  queer 
taste  you  will  say,  but  his  reason  for  such  preference  is,  as  he 
has  explained  to  me  quite  frankly,  that  he  is  so  enormously 
wealthy  that  he  does  not  quite  know  what  to  do  with  his 
money,  and  the  reverend  gentlemen  of  the  church  are  gener- 
ally ready  to  show  him  how  to  spend  some  of  it.  He  is 
always  glad  to  know  of  some  quarter  where  his  money  and 
influence  (he  is  very  influential)  may  be  useful  to  others.  He 
has  helped  me  out  of  a  very  serious  hobble,  and  I  owe  him  a 
big  debt  of  gratitude.  I've  told  him  all  about  you, — what  a 
smart  fellow  you  are,  and  what  a  lot  dear  old  Alma  Mater 
thought  of  you,  and  he  has  promised  to  give  you  a  lift  up. 
He  can  do  anything  he  likes ;  very  naturally,  seeing  that  the 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 


^5 


whole  world  of  morals,  civilization  and  the  rest  is  subservient 
to  the  power  of  money, — and  his  stock  of  cash  appears  to  be 
limitless.  Use  him;  he  is  willing  and  ready  to  be  used, — 
and  write  and  let  me  know  how  you  get  on.  Don't  bother 
about  the  fifty  till  you  feel  you  have  tided  over  the  storm. 

Ever  yours 

''BOFFLES." 

I  laughed  as  I  read  the  absurd  signature,  though  my  eyes 
were  dim  with  something  like  tears.  '"Boffles'  was  the  nick- 
name given  to  my  friend  by  several  of  our  college  companions, 
and  neither  he  nor  I  knew  how  it  first  arose.  But  no  one 
except  the  dons  ever  addressed  him  by  his  proper  name, 
which  was  John  Carrington, — he  was  simply  'Boffles,'  and 
Boffles  he  remained  even  now  for  all  those  who  had  been  his 
intimates.  I  refolded  and  put  by  his  letter  and  the  draft  for 
the  fifty  pounds,  and  with  a  passing  vague  wonder  as  to 
what  manner  of  man  the  '  philanthropist'  might  be  who  had 
more  money  than  he  knew  what  to  do  with,  I  turned  to  the 
consideration  of  my  other  two  correspondents,  relieved  to  feel 
that  now,  whatever  happened,  I  could  settle  up  arrears  with 
my  landlady  the  next  day  as  I  had  promised.  Moreover  I 
could  order  some  supper,  and  have  a  fire  lit  to  cheer  my 
chilly  room.  Before  attending  to  these  creature  comforts 
however,  I  opened  the  long  blue  envelope  that  looked  so  like 
a  threat  of  legal  proceedings,  and  unfolding  the  paper  within, 
stared  at  it  amazedly.  What  was  it  all  about  ? — The  written 
characters  danced  before  my  eyes, — puzzled  and  bewildered, 
I  found  myself  reading  the  thing  over  and  over  again  with- 
out any  clear  comprehension  of  it.  Presently  a  glimmer  of 
meaning  flashed  upon  me,  startling  my  senses  like  an  electric 
shock,  .  .  .  no — no — ! — impossible  !  Fortune  never  could 
be  so  mad  as  this  ! — never  so  wildly  capricious  and  grotesque 
of  humour  !  It  was  some  senseless  hoax  that  was  being  prac- 
tised upon  me,  .  .  .  and  yet,  ...  if  it  were  a  joke  it  was 
a  very  elaberate  and   remarkable  one !     Weighted  with  the 


i6  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

majesty  of  the  law  too  !  .  .  .  Upon  my  word  and  by  all  the 
fantastical  freakish  destinies  that  govern  human  affairs,  the 
news  seemed  actually  positive  and  genuine  ! 


II 

Steadying  my  thoughts  with  an  effort,  I  read  every  word 
of  the  document  over  again  deliberately,  and  the  stupefaction 
of  my  wonder  increased.  Was  I  going  mad,  or  sickening  for 
a  fever?  Or  could  this  startling,  this  stupendous  piece  of 
information  be  really  true?  Because, — if  indeed  it  were 
true,  .  .  .  good  heavens  ! — I  turned  giddy  to  think  of  it, 
and  it  was  only  by  sheer  force  of  will  that  I  kept  myself  from 
swooning  with  the  agitation  of  such  sudden  surprise  and 
ecstasy.  If  it  were  true — why  then  the  world  was  mine  ! 
— I  was  king  instead  of  beggar; — I  was  everything  I  chose  to 
be  !  The  letter, — the  amazing  letter,  bore  the  printed  name 
of  a  noted  firm  of  London  solicitors,  and  stated  in  measured 
and  precise  terms  that  a  distant  relative  of  my  father's,  of 
whom  I  had  scarcely  heard,  except  remotely  now  and  then 
during  my  boyhood,  had  died  suddenly  in  South  America 
leaving  me  his  sole  heir. 

"  The  real  and  personal  estate  now  amounting  to  something 
over  Five  Millions  of  Pounds  Sterlings  we  should  esteem  it  a 
favour  if  you  could  make  it  convenient  to  call  upon  us  ajty  day 
this  week  in  order  that  we  may  go  through  the  necessary  for- 
malities together.  The  larger  bulk  of  the  cash  is  lodged  in 
the  Bank  of  England,  and  a  cofisiderable  amount  is  placed 
in  French  governinent  securities.  We  should  prefer  going 
into  further  details  with  you  personally  rather  than  by  letter. 
Trustiftg  you  will  call  on  us  without  delay,  we  are,  Sir,  yours 
obediently  ..." 

Five  Millions !...!,  the  starving  literary  hack, — the 
friendless,  hopeless,  almost  reckless  haunter  of  low  newspaper 


THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN  17 

dens — I,  the  possessor  of  "over  Five  Millions  of  Pounds 
sterling"  !  I  tried  to  grasp  the  astounding  fact, — for  fact  it 
evidently  was, — but  could  not.  It  seemed  to  me  a  wild 
delusion,  born  of  the  dizzy  vagueness  which  lack  of  food 
engendered  in  my  brain.  I  stared  round  the  room ; — the 
mean  miserable  furniture, — the  fireless  grate, — the  dirty  lamp, 
— the  low  truckle  bedstead, — the  evidences  of  penury  and 
want  on  every  side ; — and  then, — then  the  overwhelming  con- 
trast between  the  poverty  that  environed  me  and  the  news  I 
had  just  received,  struck  me  as  the  wildest,  most  ridiculous 
incongruity  I  had  ever  heard  of  or  imagined, — and  I  gave 
vent  to  a  shout  of  laughter. 

''  Was  there  ever  such  a  caprice  of  mad  Fortune  !"  I  cried 
aloud — "  Who  would  have  imagined  it !  Good  God  !  I !  I, 
of  all  men  in  the  world  to  be  suddenly  chosen  out  for  this 
luck!  By  Heaven! — If  it  is  all  true  I'll  make  society  spin 
round  like  a  top  on  my  hand  before  I  am  many  months 
older!" 

And  I  laughed  loudly  again ;  laughed  just  as  I  had  pre- 
viously sworn,  simply  by  way  of  relief  to  my  feelings.  Some 
one  laughed  in  answer, — a  laugh  that  seemed  to  echo  mine. 
I  checked  myself  abruptly,  somewhat  startled,  and  listened. 
Rain  poured  outside,  and  the  wind  shrieked  like  a  petulant 
shrew, — the  violinist  next  door  was  practising  a  brilliant 
roulade  up  and  down  his  instrument, — but  there  were  no 
other  sounds  than  these.  Yet  I  could  have  sworn  I  heard 
a  man's  deep-chested  laughter  close  behind  me  where  I 
stood. 

"It  must  have  been  my  fancy,"  I  murmured,  turning  the 
flame  of  the  lamp  up  higher  in  order  to  obtain  more  light  in 
the  room — "I  am  nervous  I  suppose, — no  wonder!  Poor 
Boffles ! — good  old  chap!"  I  continued,  remembering  my 
friend's  draft  for  fifty  pounds,  which  had  seemed  such  a  god- 
send a  few  minutes  since — "What  a  surprise  is  in  store  for 
you  !  You  shall  have  your  loan  back  as  promptly  as  you  sent 
it,  with  an  extra  fifty  added  by  way  of  interest  for  your  gen- 
b  2* 


1 8  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

erosity.  And  as  for  the  new  Maecenas  you  are  sending  to 
help  me  over  my  difficulties, — well,  he  may  be  a  very  excel- 
lent old  gentleman,  but  he  will  find  himself  quite  out  of  his 
element  this  time.  I  want  neither  assistance  nor  advice  nor 
patronage — I  can  buy  them  all !  Titles,  honours,  possessions, 
— they  are  all  purchasable, — love,  friendship,  position, — they 
are  all  for  sale  in  this  admirably  commercial  age  and  go  to 
the  highest  bidder !  By  my  soul  ! — the  wealthy  *  philan- 
thropist' will  find  it  difficult  to  match  me  in  power  !  He  will 
scarcely  have  more  than  five  millions  to  waste,  I  warrant ! 
And  now  for  supper, — I  shall  have  to  live  on  credit  till  I  get 
some  ready  cash, — and  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
leave  this  wretched  hole  at  once  and  go  to  one  of  the  best 
hotels  and  swagger  it !" 

I  was  about  to  leave  the  room  on  the  swift  impulse  of 
excitement  and  joy,  when  a  fresh  and  violent  gust  of  wind 
roared  down  the  chimney,  bringing  with  it  a  shower  of  soot 
which  fell  in  a  black  heap  on  my  rejected  manuscript  where 
it  lay  forgotten  on  the  floor  as  I  had  despairingly  thrown  it. 
I  hastily  picked  it  up  and  shook  it  free  from  the  noisome 
dirt,  wondering  as  I  did  so,  what  would  be  its  fate  now  ? — 
now,  when  I  could  afford  to  publish  it  myself,  and  not  only 
publish  it  but  advertise  it,  and  not  only  advertise  it  but  '  push' 
it,  in  all  the  crafty  and  cautious  ways  known  to  the  inner 
circles  of  'booming.'  I  smiled  as  I  thought  of  the  ven- 
geance I  would  take  on  all  those  who  had  scorned  and  slighted 
me  and  my  labour, — how  they  should  cower  before  me  ! — how 
they  should  fawn  at  my  feet  like  whipt  curs  and  whine  their 
fiilsome  adulation  !  Every  stiff  and  stubborn  neck  should 
bend  before  me ;  this  I  resolved  upon ;  for  though  money 
does  not  always  conquer  everything,  it  only  fails  when  it  is 
money  apart  from  brains.  Brains  and  money  together  can 
move  the  world, — brains  can  very  frequently  do  this  alone 
without  money,  of  which  serious  and  proved  fact  those  who 
have  no  brains  should  beware  ! 

Full  of  ambitious  thought,   I   now  and  then  caught  wild 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  19 

sounds  from  the  violin  that  was  being  played  next  door, — 
notes  like  sobbing  cries  of  pain,  and  anon  rippling  runs  like 
a  careless  woman's  laughter, — and  all  at  once  I  remembered 
I  had  not  yet  opened  the  third  letter  addressed  to  me, — 
the  one  coroneted  in  scarlet  and  gold,  which  had  remained 
where  it  w^as  on  the  table  almost  unnoticed  till  now.  I 
took  it  up  and  turned  it  over  with  an  odd  sense  of  reluc- 
tance in  my  fingers,  which  were  slow  at  the  work  of  tearing 
the  thick  envelope  asunder.  Drawing  out  an  equally  thick 
small  sheet  of  notepaper  also  coroneted,  I  read  the  following 
lines  written  in  an  admirably  legible,  small  and  picturesque 
hand. 

Dear  Sir. 

I  am  the  bearer  of  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  you  from  your  former  college  companion  Mr  John  Car- 
rington,  now  of  Melbourne,  who  has  been  good  enough  to 
thus  give  me  the  means  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  one, 
who,  I  understand,  is  more  than  exceptionally  endowed  with 
the  gift  of  literary  genius.  I  shall  call  upon  you  this  evening 
between  eight  and  nine  o'clock,  trusting  to  find  you  at  home 
and  disengaged.  I  enclose  my  card,  and  present  address, 
and  beg  to  remain. 

Very  faithfully  yours 

LUCIO  RiMANEZ. 

« 

The  card  mentioned  dropped  on  the  table  as  I  finished 
reading  the  note.  It  bore  a  small  exquisitely  engraved  coronet 
and  the  words 

Prince  Lucio  Rimanez, 
while,  scribbled  lightly  in  pencil  underneath  was  the  address 
*  Grand  Hotel.' 

I  read  the  brief  letter  through  again, — it  was  simple  enough, 
— expressed  with  clearness  and  civility.  There  was  nothing 
remarkable  about  it, — nothing  whatever;  yet  it  seemed  to 
me  surcharged  with  meaning.     Why,  I  could  not  imagine. 


20  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

A  curious  fascination  kept  my  eyes  fastened  on  the  char- 
acteristic bold  handwriting,  and  made  me  fancy  I  should 
like  the  man  who  penned  it.  How  the  wind  roared  ! — and 
how  that  violin  next  door  wailed  like  the  restless  spirit  of 
some  forgotten  musician  in  torment !  My  brain  swam  and 
my  heart  ached  heavily, — the  drip  drip  of  the  rain  outside 
sounded  like  the  stealthy  footfall  of  some  secret  spy  upon  my 
movements.  I  grew  irritable  and  nervous, — a  foreboding  of 
evil  somehow  darkened  the  bright  consciousness  of  my  sudden 
good  fortune.  Then  an  impulse  of  shame  possessed  me, — 
shame  that  this  foreign  prince,  if  such  he  were,  with  limitless 
wealth  at  his  back,  should  be  coming  to  visit  me, — vie,  now 
a  millionaire, — in  my  present  wretched  lodging.  Already, 
before  I  had  touched  my  riches,  I  was  tainted  by  the  miser- 
able vulgarity  of  seeking  to  pretend  I  had  never  been  really 
poor,  but  only  embarrassed  by  a  little  temporary  difficulty  ! 
If  I  had  had  a  sixpence  about  me,  (which  I  had  not)  I  should 
have  sent  a  telegram  to  my  approaching  visitor  to  put  him 
off. 

''But  in  any  case,"  I  said  aloud,  addressing  myself  to  the 
empty  room  and  the  storm-echoes — ''  I  will  not  meet  him  to- 
night. I'll  go  out  and  leave  no  message, — and  if  he  comes 
he  will  think  I  have  not  yet  had  his  letter.  I  can  make  an 
appointment  to  see  him  when  I  am  better  lodged,  and  dressed 
more  in  keeping  with  my  present  position, — in  the  meantime, 
nothing  is  easier  than  to  keep  out  of  this  would-be  benefactor's 
way. ' ' 

As  I  spoke,  the  flickering  lamp  gave  a  dismal  crackle  and 
went  out,  leaving  me  in  pitch  darkness.  With  an  exclamation 
more  strong  than  reverent,  I  groped  about  the  room  for  matches, 
or  failing  them,  for  my  hat  and  coat, — and  I  was  still  engaged 
in  a  fruitless  and  annoying  search,  when  I  caught  a  sound  of 
galloping  horses'  hoofs  coming  to  an  abrupt  stop  in  the  street 
below.  Surrounded  by  black  gloom,  I  paused  and  listened. 
There  was  a  slight  commotion  in  the  basement, — I  heard  my 
landlady's  accents  attuned  to  nervous  civility,  mingling  with 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  21 

the  mellow  tones  of  a  deep  masculine  voice, — then  steps,  firm 
and  even,  ascended  the  stairs  to  my  landing. 

''  The  devil  is  in  it !"  I  muttered  vexedly — "  Just  like  my 
wayward  luck  ! — here  comes  the  very  man  I  intended  to 
avoid!" 


Ill 

The  door  opened, — and  from  the  dense  obscurity  en- 
shrouding me  I  could  just  perceive  a  tall  shadowy  figure 
standing  on  the  threshold.  I  remember  well  the  curious 
impression  the  mere  outline  of  this  scarcely  discerned  form 
made  upon  me  even  then,  suggesting  at  the  first  glance  such 
a  stately  majesty  of  height  and  bearing  as  at  once  riveted 
my  attention, — so  much  so  indeed  that  I  scarcely  heard  my 
landlady's  introductory  words  *' A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir," 
— words  that  were  quickly  interrupted  by  a  murmur  of  dismay 
at  finding  the  room  in  total  darkness.  "Well  to  be  sure! 
The  lamp  must  have  gone  out!"  she  exclaimed, — then  ad- 
dressing the  personage  she  had  ushered  thus  far,  she  added — 
**I'm  afraid  Mr.  Tempest  isn't  in  after  all,  sir,  though  I 
certainly  saw  him  about  half-an-hour  ago.  If  you  don't 
mind  waiting  here  a  minute  I'll  fetch  a  light  and  see  if  he 
has  left  any  message  on  his  table. ' ' 

She  hurried  away,  and  though  I  knew  that  of  course  I 
ought  to  speak,  a  singular  and  quite  inexplicable  perversity  of 
humour  kept  me  silent  and  unwilling  to  declare  my  presence. 
Meanwhile  the  tall  stranger  advanced  a  pace  or  two,  and  a 
rich  voice  with  a  ring  of  ironical  amusement  in  it  called  me 
by  my  name — 

"  Geoffrey  Tempest,  are  you  there?" 

Why  could  I  not  answer?  The  strangest  and  most  un- 
natural obstinacy  stiffened  my  tongue, — and,  concealed  in 
the  gloom  of  my  forlorn  literary  den  I  still  held  my  peace. 
The  majestic  figure  drew  nearer,  till  in  height  and  breadth  it 


22  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

seemed  to  suddenly  overshadow  me,  and  once  again  the  voice 
called — 

"Geoffrey  Tempest,  are  you  there?" 

For  very  shame's  sake  I  could  hold  out  no  longer, — and 
with  a  determined  effort  I  broke  the  extraordinary  dumb  spell 
that  had  held  me  like  a  coward  in  silent  hiding,  and  came 
forward  boldly  to  confront  my  visitor. 

''  Yes  I  am  here,"  I  said — "And  being  here  I  am  ashamed 
to  give  you  such  a  welcome  as  this.  You  are  Prince  Rimanez 
of  course ; — I  have  just  read  your  note,  which  prepared  me 
for  your  visit,  but  I  was  hoping  that  my  landlady,  finding  the 
room  in  darkness,  would  conclude  I  was  out,  and  show  you 
downstairs  again.     You  see  I  am  perfectly  frank  !" 

"You  are  indeed!"  returned  the  stranger,  his  deep  tones 
still  vibrating  with  the  silvery  clang  of  veiled  satire — "So 
frank  that  I  cannot  fail  to  understand  you.  Briefly,  and 
without  courtesy,  you  resent  my  visit  this  evening  and  wish  I 
had  not  come  ! ' ' 

This  open  declaration  of  my  mood  sounded  so  brusque  that 
I  made  haste  to  deny  it  though  I  knew  it  to  be  true.  Truth, 
even  in  trifles,  always  seems  unpleasant ! 

"Pray  do  not  think  me  so  churlish," — I  said — "The  fact 
is  I  only  opened  your  letter  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  before  I 
could  make  any  arrangements  to  receive  you,  the  lamp  went 
out,  with  the  awkward  result  that  I  am  forced  to  greet  you  in 
this  unsociable  darkness,  which  is  almost  too  dense  to  shake 
hands  in." 

"  Shall  we  try?"  my  visitor  enquired,  with  a  sudden  soften- 
ing of  accent  that  gave  his  words  a  singular  charm — "  Here  is 
my  hand, — if  yours  has  any  friendly  instinct  in  it,  the  twain 
will  meet,— quite  blindly  and  without  guidance  !" 

I  at  once  extended  my  hand,  and  it  was  instantly  clasped 
in  a  warm  and  somewhat  masterful  manner.  At  that  instant 
a  light  flashed  on  the  scene, — my  landlady  entered,  bearing 
what  she  called  '  her  best  lamp'  alit,  and  set  it  on  the  table. 
I  believe  she  uttered  some  exclamation  of  surprise  at  seeing 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  23 

me, — she  may  have  said  anything  or  nothing, — I  did  not  hear 
or  heed,  so  entirely  was  1  amazed  and  fascinated  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  man  whose  long  slender  hand  still  held  mine.  I 
am  myself  an  average  good  height,  but  he  was  fully  half  a 
head  taller  than  I,  if  not  more  than  that, — and  as  I  looked 
straightly  at  him,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  so  much  beauty 
and  intellectuality  combined  in  the  outward  personality  of  any 
human  being.  The  finely  shaped  head  denoted  both  power 
and  wisdom,  and  was  nobly  poised  on  such  shoulders  as  might 
have  befitted  a  Hercules, — the  countenance  was  a  pure  oval, 
and  singularly  pale,  this  complexion  intensifying  the  almost 
fiery  brilliancy  of  the  full  dark  eyes,  which  had  in  them  a 
curious  and  wonderfully  attractive  look  of  mingled  mirth  and 
misery.  The  mouth  was  perhaps  the  most  telling  feature  in 
this  remarkable  face, — set  in  the  perfect  curve  of  beauty,  it 
was  yet  firm,  determined,  and  not  too  small,  thus  escaping 
effeminacy, — and  I  noted  that  in  repose  it  expressed  bitterness, 
disdain  and  even  cruelty.  But  with  the  light  of  a  smile  upon 
it,  it  signified,  or  seemed  to  signify,  something  more  subtle 
than  any  passion  to  which  we  can  give  a  name,  and  already 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  lightning  flash,  I  caught  myself  wonder- 
ing what  that  mystic  undeclared  something  might  be.  At  a 
glance  I  comprehended  these  primary  details  of  my  new  ac- 
quaintance's eminently  prepossessing  appearance,  and  when 
my  hand  dropped  from  his  close  grasp  I  felt  as  if  1  had  known 
him  all  my  life  !  And  now  face  to  face  with  him,  in  the  bright 
lamp-light  I  remembered  my  actual  surroundings, — the  bare 
cold  room,  the  lack  of  fire,  the  black  soot  that  sprinkled  the 
nearly  carpetless  floor, — my  own  shabby  clothes  and  deplora- 
ble aspect,  as  compared  with  this  regal-looking  individual  who 
carried  the  visible  evidence  of  wealth  upon  him  in  the  superb 
Russian  sables  that  lined  and  bordered  his  long  overcoat 
which  he  now  partially  unfastened  and  threw  open  with  a 
carelessly  imperial  air,  the  while  he  regarded  me,  smiling. 

"I  know  I  have  come  at  an  awkward  moment,"  he  said — 
"  I  always  do  !     It  is   my  peculiar   misfortune.     Well-bred 


24  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

people  never  intrude  where  they  are  not  wanted, — and  in  this 
particular  I'm  afraid  my  manners  leave  much  to  be  desired. 
Try  to  forgive  me  if  you  can,  for  the  sake  of  this," — and  he 
held  out  a  letter  addressed  to  me  in  my  friend  Carrington's 
familiar  handwriting.  ''And  permit  me  to  sit  down  while  you 
read  my  credentials." 

He  took  a  chair  and  seated  himself.  I  observed  his  hand- 
some face  and  easy  attitude  with  renewed  admiration. 

"No  credentials  are  necessary,"  I  said  w^ith  all  the  cor- 
diality I  now  really  felt — "I  have  already  had  a  letter  from 
Carrington  in  which  he  speaks  of  you  in  the  highest  and  most 

grateful  terms.     But  the  fact  is w^ell ! — really.  Prince,  you 

must  excuse  me  if  I  seem  confused  or  astonished  ...  I  had 
expected  to  see  quite  an  old  man  .   .    ." 

And  I  broke  off,  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the  keen  glance 
of  the  brilliant  eyes  that  met  mine  so  fixedly. 

*'No  one  is  old,  my  dear  sir,  nowadays!"  he  declared 
lightly — "  even  the  grandmothers  and  grandfathers  are  friskier 
at  fifty  than  they  were  at  fifteen.  One  does  not  talk  of  age 
at  all  now  in  polite  society, — it  is  ill-bred,  even  coarse. 
Indecent  things  are  unmentionable — age  has  become  an 
indecent  thing.  It  is  therefore  avoided  in  conversation.  You 
expected  to  see  an  old  man  you  say  ?  Well,  you  are  not 
disappointed — I  aj7i  old.  In  fact  you  have  no  idea  how  very 
old  I  am!" 

I  laughed  at  this  piece  of  absurdity. 

''  Why  you  are  younger  than  I," — I  said — "  or  if  not,  you 
look  it." 

*' Ah,  my  looks  belie  me  !"  he  returned  gaily — ''  I  am  like 
several  of  the  most  noted  fashionable  beauties, — much  riper 
than  I  seem.  But  come,  read  the  introductory  missive  I  have 
brought  you, — I  shall  not  be  satisfied  till  you  do." 

Thus  requested,  and  wishing  to  prove  myself  as  courteous 
as  I  had  hitherto  been  brusque,  I  at  once  opened  my  friend's 
note  and  read  as  follows, — 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  25 

Dear  Geoffrey. 

The  bearer  of  this,  Prince  Rimanez,  is 
a  very  distinguished  scholar  and  gentleman,  allied  by  descent 
to  one  of  the  oldest  families  in  Europe,  or  for  that  matter,  in 
the  world.  You,  as  a  student  and  lover  of  ancient  history, 
will  be  interested  to  know  that  his  ancestors  were  originally 
princes  of  Chaldea,  who  afterwards  settled  in  Tyre, — from 
thence  they  went  to  Etruria  and  there  continued  through 
many  centuries,  the  last  scion  of  the  house  being  the  very 
gifted  and  genial  personage  who,  as  my  good  friend,  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  commending  to  your  kindest  regard.  Certain 
troublous  and  overpowering  circumstances  have  forced  him 
into  exile  from  his  native  province,  and  deprived  him  of  a 
great  part  of  his  possessions,  so  that  he  is  to  a  considerable 
extent  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  has  travelled 
far  and  seen  much,  and  has  a  wide  experience  of  men  and 
things.  He  is  a  poet  and  musician  of  great  skill,  and  though 
he  occupies  himself  with  the  arts  solely  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment, I  think  you  will  find  his  practical  knowledge  of  literary 
matters  eminently  useful  to  you  in  your  difficult  career.  I 
must  not  forget  to  add  that  in  all  matters  scientific  he  is  an 
absolute  master.  Wishing  you  both  a  cordial  friendship,  I 
am,  dear  Geoffrey, 

Yours  sincerely 

John  Carrington. 

The  signature  of  '  Bofifles'  had  evidently  been  deemed  out  of 
place  this  time  and  somehow  I  was  foolishly  vexed  at  its 
omission.  There  seemed  to  be  something  formal  and  stiff 
in  the  letter,  almost  as  if  it  had  been  written  to  dictation,  and 
under  pressure.  What  gave  me  this  idea  I  know  not.  I 
glanced  furtively  at  my  silent  companion, — he  caught  my  stray 
look  and  returned  it  with  a  curiously  grave  fixity.  Fearing 
lest  my  momentary  vague  distrust  of  him  had  been  reflected 
in  my  eyes  I  made  haste  to  speak — 

*'  This  letter,  prince,  adds  to  my  shame  and  regret  that  I 
B  3 


26  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

should  have  greeted  you  in  so  churlish  a  manner  this  evening. 
No  apology  can  condone  my  rudeness, — but  you  cannot 
imagine  how  mortified  I  felt,  and  still  feel,  tqgbe  compelled 
to  receive  you  in  this  miserable  den, — it  js  not  at  all 
the  sort  of  place  in  which  I  should  have  liked  to  welcome 
you  ..."  And  I  broke  off  with  a  renewed  sense  of  irri- 
tation, remembering  how  actually  rich  I  now  was,  and  that 
in  spite  of  this  I  was  obliged  to  seem  poor.  Meanwhile  the 
prince  waived  aside  my  remarks  with  a  light  gesture  of  his  hand. 

"Why  be  mortified?"  he  demanded.  "  Rather  be  proud 
that  you  can  dispense  with  the  vulgar  appurtenances  of  luxury. 
Genius  thrives  in  a  garret  and  dies  in  a  palace, — is  not  that 
the  generally  accepted  theory?" 

"Rather  a  worn-out  and  mistaken  one  I  consider," — I 
replied — "  Genius  might  like  to  try  the  effect  of  a  palace  for 
once, — it  usually  dies  of  starvation." 

"  True  ! — but  in  thus  dying,  think  how  many  fools  it  after- 
wards fattens !  There  is  an  all-wise  Providence  in  this,  my 
dear  sir !  Schubert  perished  of  want, — but  see  what  large 
profits  all  the  music-publishers  have  made  since  out  of  his 
compositions  !  It  is  a  most  beautiful  dispensation  of  nature, 
— that  honest  folk  should  be  sacrificed  in  order  to  provide  for 
the  sustenance  of  knaves  !" 

He  laughed,  and  I  looked  at  him  in  a  little  surprise.  His 
remark  touched  so  near  my  own  opinions  that  I  wondered 
whether  he  were  in  jest  or  earnest. 

"  You  speak  sarcastically  of  course?"  I  said — "You  do  not 
really  believe  what  you  say?" 

"  Oh  do  I  not  !"  he  returned,  with  a  flash  of  his  fine  eyes 
that  was  almost  lightning-like  in  its  intensity — "  If  I  could 
not  believe  the  teaching  of  my  own  experience,  what  would 
be  left  to  me  ?  I  always  realize  the  '  nee(/s  inusf  of  things — 
how  does  the  old  maxim  go — *  needs  must  when  the  devil 
drives.'  There  is  really  no  possible  contradiction  to  offer  to 
the  accuracy  of  that  statement.  The  devil  drives  the  world, 
whip  in  hand, — and  oddly  enough  (considering  that  some 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  27 

belated  folk  still  fancy  there  is  a  God  somewhere)  succeeds 
in  managing  his  team  with  extraordinary  ease  !"  His  brow 
clouded,  and  the  bitter  lines  about  his  mouth  deepened  and 
hardened, — anon  he  laughed  again  lightly  and  continued — 
''But  let  us  not  moralize, — morals  sicken  the  soul  both  in 
church  and  out  of  it, — every  sensible  man  hates  to  be  told 
what  he  could  be  and  what  he  woji  t  be.  I  am  here  to  make 
friends  with  you  if  you  permit, — and  to  put  an  end  to  cere- 
mony, will  you  accompany  me  back  to  my  hotel  where  I 
have  ordered  supper  ?' ' 

By  this  time  I  had  become  indescribably  fascinated  by  his 
easy  manner,  handsome  presence  and  mellifluous  voice, — 
the  satirical  turn  of  his  humour  suited  mine, — I  felt  we  should 
get  on  well  together, — and  my  first  annoyance  at  being  dis- 
covered by  him  in  such  poverty-stricken  circumstances  some- 
what abated. 

"With  pleasure!"  I  replied — ''But  first  of  all,  you  must 
allow  me  to  explain  matters  a  little.  You  have  heard  a  good 
deal  about  my  affairs  from  my  friend  John  Carrington,  and 
I  know  from  his  private  letter  to  me  that  you  have  come 
here  out  of  pure  kindness  and  goodwill.  For  that  generous 
intention  I  thank  you  !  I  know  you  expected  to  find  a  poor 
wretch  of  a  literary  man  struggling  with  the  direst  circum- 
stances of  disappointment  and  poverty, — and  a  couple  of 
hours  ago  you  would  have  amply  fulfilled  that  expectation. 
But  now,  things  have  changed, — I  have  received  news  which 
completely  alters  my  position, — in  fact  I  have  had  a  very 
great  and  remarkable  surprise  this  evening  ..." 

"An  agreeable  one  I  trust?"  interposed  my  companion 
suavely. 

I  smiled. 

"Judge  for  yourself!"  And  I  handed  him  the  lawyer's 
letter  which  informed  me  of  my  suddenly  acquired  fortune. 

He  glanced  it  through  rapidly, — then  folded  and  returned  it 
to  me  with  a  courteous  bow. 

"I  suppose  I  should  congratulate  you," — he  said — "And 


28  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

I  do.  Though  of  course  this  wealth  which  seems  to  content 
you,  to  me  appears  a  mere  trifle.  It  can  be  quite  conveniently- 
run  through  and  exhausted  in  about  eight  years  or  less, 
therefore  it  does  not  provide  absolute  immunity  from  care. 
To  be  rich,  really  rich,  in  my  sense  of  the  word,  one  should 
have  about  a  million  a  year.  Then  one  might  reasonably 
hope  to  escape  the  workhouse  ! ' ' 

He  laughed, — and  I  stared  at  him  stupidly,  not  knowing 
how  to  take  his  words,  whether  as  truth  or  idle  boasting. 
Five  Millions  of  money  a  mere  trifle  !  He  went  on  without 
apparently  noticing  my  amazement — 

"The  inexhaustible  greed  of  a  man,  my  dear  sir,  can  never 
be  satisfied.  If  he  is  not  consumed  by  desire  for  one  thing, 
he  is  for  another,  and  his  tastes  are  generally  expensive.  A 
few  pretty  and  unscrupulous  women  for  example,  would  soon 
relieve  you  of  your  five  millions  in  the  purchase  of  jewels 
alone.  Horse-racing  would  do  it  still  more  quickly.  No, 
no, — you  are  not  rich, — you  are  still  poor, — only  your  needs 
are  no  longer  so  pressing  as  they  were.  And  in  this  I  confess 
myself  somewhat  disappointed, — for  I  came  to  you  hoping  to 
do  a  good  turn  to  some  one  for  once  in  my  life,  and  to  play 
the  foster-father  to  a  rising  genius — and  here  I  am — fore- 
stalled,— as  usual  !  It  is  a  singular  thing  do  you  know,  but 
nevertheless  a  fact,  that  whenever  I  have  had  any  particular 
intentions  towards  a  man  I  am  always  forestalled  !  It  is 
really  rather  hard  upon  me  ?' '  He  broke  off  and  raised  his 
head  in  a  listening  attitude. 

''What  is  that?"  he  asked. 

It  was  the  violinist  next  door  playing  a  well-known  "Ave 
Maria."     I  told  him  so. 

"Dismal, — very  dismal!"  he  said  with  a  contemptuous 
shrug.  "I  hate  all  that  kind  of  mawkish  devotional  stuff. 
Well ! — millionaire  as  you  are,  and  acknowledged  lion  of 
society  as  you  shortly  will  be,  there  is  no  objection  I  hope, 
to  the  proposed  supper?  And  perhaps  a  music-hall  after- 
wards if  you  feel  inclined, — what  do  you  say?" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  29 

He  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder  cordially  and  looked 
straight  into  my  face, — those  wonderful  eyes  of  his,  suggestive 
of  both  tears  and  fire,  fixed  me  with  a  clear  masterful  gaze  that 
completely  dominated  me.  I  made  no  attempt  to  resist  the 
singular  attraction  which  now  possessed  me  for  this  man  whom 
I  had  but  just  met, — the  sensation  was  too  strong  and  too 
pleasant  to  be  combated.  Only  for  one  moment  more  I 
hesitated,  looking  down  at  my  shabby  attire. 

''  I  am  not  fit  to  accompany  you,  prince,"  I  said — "  I  look 
more  like  a  tramp  than  a  millionaire." 

He  glanced  at  me  and  smiled. 

"  Upon  my  life,  so  you  do  !"  he  averred. — '^  But  be  satis- 
fied you  are  in  this  respect  very  like  many  another  Croesus. 
It  is  only  the  poor  and  proud  who  take  the  trouble  to  dress 
well, — they  and  the  dear  *  naughty'  ladies  generally  monopo- 
lize tasteful  and  becoming  attire.  An  ill-fitting  coat  often 
adorns  the  back  of  a  Prime  Minister, — and  if  you  see  a 
woman  clad  in  clothes  vilely  cut  and  coloured,  you  may  be 
sure  she  is  eminently  virtuous,  renowned  for  good  works, 
and  probably  a  duchess. ' '  He  rose,  drawing  his  sables  about 
him. 

"What  matter  the  coat  if  the  purse  be  full  !"  he  continued 
gaily. — ''Let  it  once  be  properly  paragraphed  in  the  papers 
that  you  are  a  millionaire,  and  doubtless  some  enterprising 
tailor  will  invent  a  '  Tempest'  ulster  coloured  softly  like  your 
present  garb,  an  artistic  mildewy  green  !  And  now  come 
along, — your  solicitor's  communication  should  have  given 
you  a  good  appetite,  or  it  is  not  so  valuable  as  it  seems, — 
and  I  want  you  to  do  justice  to  my  supper.  I  have  my  own 
chef  with  me,  and  he  is  not  without  skill.  I  hope,  by  the 
way,  you  will  at  least  do  me  this  much  service, — that  pending 
legal  discussion  and  settlement  of  your  affairs,  you  will  let  me 
be  your  banker?" 

This  offer  was  made  with  such  an  air  of  courteous  delicacy 
and  friendship,  that  I  could  do  no  more  than  accept  it  grate- 
fully, as  it  relieved  me  from  all  temporary  embarrassment.     I 

3* 


30  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

hastily  wrote  a  few  lines  to  my  landlady  telling  her  she  would 
receive  the  money  owing  to  her  by  post  next  day, — then, 
thrusting  my  rejected  manuscript,  my  only  worldly  possession, 
into  my  coat-pocket,  I  extinguished  the  lamp,  and  with  the 
new  friend  I  had  so  suddenly  gained,  I  left  my  dismal  lodg- 
ings and  all  its  miserable  associations  for  ever.  I  little 
thought  the  day  would  come  when  I  should  look  back  to  the 
time  spent  in  that  small  mean  room  as  the  best  period  of  my 
life, — when  I  should  regard  the  bitter  poverty  I  then  endured, 
as  the  stern  but  holy  angel  meant  to  guide  me  to  the  highest 
and  noblest  attainment, — when  I  should  pray  desperately  with 
wild  tears  to  be  as  I  was  then,  rather  than  as  I  am  now  ! 
Is  it  well  or  ill  for  us  I  wonder,  that  the  future  is  hidden  from 
our  knowledge  ?  Should  we  steer  our  ways  clearer  from  evil 
if  we  knew  its  result  ?  It  is  a  doubtful  question, — at  anyrate 
my  ignorance  for  the  moment  was  indeed  bliss.  I  went  joy- 
fully out  of  the  dreary  house  where  I  had  lived  so  long  among 
disappointments  and  difficulties,  turning  my  back  upon  it  with 
such  a  sense  of  relief  as  could  never  be  expressed  in  words, — 
and  the  last  thing  I  heard  as  I  passed  into  the  street  with  my 
companion  was  a  plaintive  long-drawn  w^ail  of  minor  melody, 
which  seemed  to  be  sent  after  me  like  a  parting  cry,  by  the 
unknown  and  invisible  player  of  the  violin. 


IV 

Outside,  the  prince's  carriage  waited,  drawn  by  two  spir- 
ited black  horses  caparisoned  in  silver,  magnificent  thorough- 
breds which  pawed  the  ground  and  champed  their  bits  im- 
patient of  delay, — at  sight  of  his  master  the  smart  footman 
in  attendance  threw  the  door  open,  touching  his  hat  respect- 
fully. We  stepped  in,  I  preceding  my  companion  at  his  ex- 
pressed desire ;  and  as  I  sank  back  among  the  easy  cushions  I 
felt  the  complacent   consciousness  of  luxury   and   power  to 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  31 

such  an  extent  that  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  left  my  days  of  ad- 
versity already  a  long  way  behind  me.  Hunger  and  happiness 
disputed  my  sensations  between  them,  and  I  was  in  that  vague 
light-headed  condition  common  to  long  fasting,  in  which 
nothing  seemed  absolutely  tangible  or  real.  I  knew  I  should 
not  properly  grasp  the  solid  truth  of  my  wonderful  good  luck 
till  my  physical  needs  were  satisfied,  and  I  was,  so  to  speak, 
once  more  in  a  naturally  balanced  bodily  condition.  At 
present  my  brain  was  in  a  whirl, — my  thoughts  were  all  dim 
and  disconnected, — and  I  appeared  to  myself  to  be  in  some 
whimsical  dream  from  which  I  should  wake  up  directly.  The 
carriage  rolled  on  rubber-tyred  wheels  and  made  no  noise  as 
it  went, — one  could  only  hear  the  even  rapid  trot  of  the 
horses.  By-and-by  I  saw  in  the  semi-darkness  my  new 
friend's  brilliant  dark  eyes  fixed  upon  me  with  a  curiously 
intent  expression. 

"Do  you  not  feel  the  world  already  at  your  feet?"  he 
queried  half  playfully,  half  ironically — "  Like  a  football, 
waiting  to  be  kicked  ?  It  is  such  an  absurd  world,  you  know 
— so  easily  moved.  Wise  men  in  all  ages  have  done  their 
best  to  make  it  less  ridiculous, — with  no  result,  inasmuch  as  it 
continues  to  prefer  folly  to  wisdom.  A  football,  or  let  us  say 
a  shuttlecock  among  worlds,  ready  to  be  tossed  up  anyhow  and 
anywhere,  provided  the  battledore  be  of  gold !" 

"You  speak  a  trifle  bitterly,  prince" — I  said — "But  no 
doubt  you  have  had  a  wide  experience  among  men?" 

"  I  have,"  he  returned  with  emphasis — "  My  kingdom  is  a 
vast  one." 

"  You  are  a  ruling  power  then?"  I  exclaimed  with  some 
astonishment — "Yours  is  not  a  title  of  honour  only?" 

"Oh,  as  your  rules  of  aristocracy  go,  it  is  a  mere  title  of 
honour" — he  replied  quickly — "  When  I  say  that  my  king- 
dom is  a  vast  one,  I  mean  that  I  rule  wherever  men  obey  the 
influence  of  wealth.  From  this  point  of  view,  am  I  wrong  in 
calling  my  kingdom  vast  ? — is  it  not  almost  boundless  ?" 

"I  perceive  you  are  a  cynic," — I  said — "Yet  surely  you 


32  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

believe  that  there  are  some  things  wealth  cannot  buy, — honour 
and  virtue  for  example?" 

He  surveyed  me  with  a  whimsical  smile. 

"  I  suppose  honour  and  virtue  ^'/d?  exist — "  he  answered — 
"  And  when  they  are  existent  of  course  they  cannot  be  bought. 
But  my  experience  has  taught  me  that  I  can  always  buy 
everything.  The  sentiments  called  honour  and  virtue  by  the 
majority  of  men  are  the  most  shifty  things  imaginable, — set 
sufficient  cash  down,  and  they  become  bribery  and  corruption 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  !  Curious — very  curious.  I  con- 
fess I  found  a  case  of  unpurchaseable  integrity  once,  but  only 
once.  I  may  find  it  again,  though  I  consider  the  chance  a 
very  doubtful  one.  Now  to  revert  to  myself,  pray  do  not 
imagine  I  am  playing  the  humbug  with  you  or  passing  myself 
off  under  a  bogus  title.  I  am  a  boiia-fide  prince,  believe  me, 
and  of  such  descent  as  none  of  your  oldest  families  can 
boast, — but  my  dominions  are  long  since  broken  up  and 
my  former  subjects  dispersed  among  all  nations, — anarchy, 
nihilism,  disruption  and  political  troubles  generally,  compel 
me  to  be  rather  reticent  concerning  my  affairs.  Money  I 
fortunately  have  in  plenty, — and  with  that  I  pave  my  way. 
Some  day  when  we  are  better  acquainted,  you  shall  know 
more  of  my  private  history.  I  have  various  other  names  and 
titles  besides  that  on  my  card — but  I  keep  to  the  simplest  of 
them,  because  most  people  are  such  bunglers  at  the  pronunci- 
ation of  foreign  names.  My  intimate  friends  generally  drop 
my  title  and  call  me  Lucio  simply." 

"That  is  your  Christian  name — ?"  I  began. 

''  Not  at  all — I  have  no  '  Christian'  name," — he  interrupted 
swiftly  and  with  anger — ''  There  is  no  such  thing  as  '  Christian' 
in  my  composition  !" 

He  spoke  with  such  impatience  that  for  a  moment  I  was  at 
a  loss  for  a  reply.     At  last — 

"Indeed  !"  I  murmured  vaguely. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

Indeed  !'    That  is  all  you  can  find  to  say  !    Indeed  and 


<(  i 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


33 


again  indeed,  the  word  '  Christian'  vexes  me.  There  is  no 
such  being  alive.  Vou  are  not  a  Christian, — no  one  is 
really, — people  pretend  to  be, — and  in  so  damnable  an  act 
of  feigning  are  more  blasphemous  than  any  fallen  fiend ! 
Now  I  make  no  pretences  of  the  kind, — 1  have  only  one 
faith—" 

''And  that  is?"  — 

'*  A  profound  and  awful  one  !"  he  said  in  thrilling  tones — 
''And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  it  is  true, — as  true  as  the  work- 
ings of  the  Universe.  But  of  that  hereafter, — it  will  do  to 
talk  of  when  we  feel  low-spirited  and  wish  to  converse  of 
things  grim  and  ghastly, — at  present  here  we  are  at  our  des- 
tination, and  the  chief  consideration  of  our*  lives,  (it  is  the 
chief  consideration  of  most  men's  lives)  must  be  the  excel- 
lence or  non-excellence  of  our  food." 

The  carriage  stopped  and  we  descended.  At  first  sight  of 
the  black  horses  and  silver  trappings,  the  porter  of  the  hotel 
and  two  or  three  other  servants  rushed  out  to  attend  upon  us, 
but  the  prince  passed  into  the  hall  without  noticing  any  of 
them,  and  addressed  himself  to  a  sober-looking  individual  in 
black,  his  own  private  valet,  who  came  forward  to  meet  him 
with  a  profound  salutation.  I  murmured  something  about 
wishing  to  engage  a  room  for  myself  in  the  hotel. 

"  Oh,  my  man  will  see  to  that  for  you" — he  said  lightly — 
"  The  house  is  not  full, — at  anyrate  all  the  best  rooms  are  not 
taken ;  and  of  course  you  want  one  of  the  best." 

A  staring  waiter,  who  up  to  that  moment  had  been  noting 
my  shabby  clothes  with  that  peculiar  air  of  contempt  com- 
monly displayed  by  insolent  menials  to  those  whom  they 
imagine  are  poor,  overheard  these  words,  and  suddenly  chang- 
ing the  derisive  expression  of  his  foxy  face,  bowed  obse- 
quiously as  I  passed.  A  thrill  of  disgust  ran  through  me, 
mingled  with  a  certain  angry  triumph, — the  hypocritical  reflex 
of  this  low  fellow's  countenance,  was,  I  knew,  a  true  epitome 
of  what  I  should  find  similarly  reflected  in  the  manner  and 
attitude  of  all  '  polite'   society.     For  there  the  estimate  of 


34  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

worth  is  no  higher  than  a  common  servant's  estimate,  and  is 
taken  solely  from  the  money  standard  ; — if  you  are  poor  and 
dress  shabbily  you  are  thrust  aside  and  ignored, — but  if  you 
are  rich,  you  may  wear  shabby  clothes  as  much  as  you 
like,  you  are  still  courted  and  flattered  and  invited  every- 
where, though  you  may  be  the  greatest  fool  alive  or  the  worst 
blackguard  unhung.  With  vague  thoughts  such  as  these  flit- 
ting over  my  mind,  I  followed  my  host  to  his  rooms.  He 
occupied  nearly  a  whole  wing  of  the  hotel,  having  a  large 
drawing-room,  dining-room  and  study  en  suite,  fitted  up  in 
the  most  luxurious  manner,  besides  bedroom,  bathroom,  and 
dressing-room,  with  other  rooms  adjoining,  for  his  valet  and 
two  extra  personal  attendants.  The  table  was  laid  for  supper, 
and  glittered  with  the  costliest  glass,  silver  and  china,  being 
furthermore  adorned  by  baskets  of  the  most  exquisite  fruit  and 
flowers,  and  in  a  few  moments  we  were  seated.  The  prince's 
valet  acted  as  head-waiter,  and  I  noticed  that  now  this  man's 
face,  seen  in  the  full  light  of  the  electric  lamps,  seemed  very 
dark  and  unpleasant,  even  sinister  in  expression, — but  in  the 
performance  of  his  duties  he  was  unexceptionable,  being  quick, 
attentive,  and  deferential,  so  much  so  that  I  inwardly  re- 
proached myself  for  taking  an  instinctive  dislike  to  him.  His 
name  was  Amiel,  and  I  found  myself  involuntarily  watching 
his  movements,  they  were  so  noiseless, — his  very  step  suggest- 
ing the  stealthy  gliding  of  a  cat  or  a  tiger.  He  was  assisted 
in  his  work  by  the  two  other  attendants  who  served  as  his 
subordinates,  and  who  were  equally  active  and  well-trained, — 
and  presently  I  found  myself  enjoying  the  choicest  meal  I  had 
tasted  for  many  and  many  a  long  day,  flavoured  with  such  wine 
as  connoisseurs  might  be  apt  to  dream  of,  but  never  succeed 
in  finding.  I  began  to  feel  perfectly  at  my  ease,  and  talked 
with  freedom  and  confidence,  the  strong  attraction  I  had  for 
my  new  friend  deepening  with  every  moment  I  passed  in  his 
company. 

'*  Will  you  continue  your  literary  career  now  you  have  this 
little  fortune  left  you?"  he  inquired,  when  at  the  close  of 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  35 

supper  Amiel  set  the  choicest  cognac  and  cigars  before  us  and 
respectfully  withdrew — ''  Do  you  think  you  will  care  to  go  on 
with  it?" 

"  Certainly  I  shall," — I  replied — ''if  only  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing.  You  see,  with  money  I  can  force  my  name  into 
notice  whether  the  public  like  it  or  not.  No  newspaper 
refuses  paying  advertisements." 

"  True  ! — but  may  not  inspiration  refuse  to  flow  from  a  full 
purse  and  an  empty  head  ?" 

This  remark  provoked  me  not  a  little. 

*'Do  you  consider  me  empty-headed?"  I  asked  with  some 
vexation. 

"  Not  at  present.  My  dear  Tempest,  do  not  let  either  the 
Tokay  we  have  been  drinking,  or  the  cognac  we  are  going  to 
drink,  speak  for  you  in  such  haste  !  I  assure  you  I  do  not 
think  you  empty-headed, — on  the  contrary,  your  head,  I 
believe  from  what  I  have  heard,  has  been  and  is  full  of  ideas, 
— excellent  ideas,  original  ideas,  which  the  world  of  conven- 
tional criticism  does  not  want.  But  whether  these  ideas  will 
continue  to  germinate  in  your  brain,  or  whether,  with  the  full 
purse,  they  will  cease,  is  now  the  question.  Great  originality 
and  inspiration,  strange  to  say,  seldom  endow  the  millionaire. 
Inspiration  is  supposed  to  come  from  above, — money  from 
below  !  In  your  case  however  both  originality  and  inspira- 
tion may  continue  to  flourish  and  bring  forth  fruit, — I  trust 
they  may.  It  often  happens,  nevertheless  that  when  bags  of 
money  fall  to  the  lot  of  aspiring  genius,  God  departs  an(3  the 
devil  walks  in.     Have  you  never  heard  that  ?' ' 

'*  Never  !"  I  answered  smiling. 

''Well,  of  course  the  saying  is  foolish,  and  sounds  doubly 
ridiculous  in  this  age  when  people  believe  in  neither  God  nor 
devil.  It  implies  however  that  one  must  choose  an  up  or  a 
down, — genius  is  the  Up,  money  is  the  Down.  You  cannot 
fly  and  grovel  at  the  same  instant." 

"The  possession  of  money  is  not  likely  to  cause  a  man 
to  grovel" — I  said — "It   is  the  one   thing  necessary  to 


36  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

strengthen  his  soaring  powers  and  lift  him  to  the  greatest 
heights." 

"You  think  so?"  and  my  host  lit  his  cigar  with  a  grave 
and  pre-occupied  air — "Then  I'm  afraid  you  don't  know 
much  about  what  I  shall  call  natural  psychics.  What  belongs 
to  the  earth  tends  earthwards,  — surely  you  realize  that  ?  Gold 
most  strictly  belongs  to  the  earth, — you  dig  it  out  of  the 
ground, — you  handle  it  and  dispose  of  it  in  solid  wedges  or 
bars — it  is  a  substantial  metal  enough.  Genius  belongs  to 
nobody  knows  where, — you  cannot  dig  it  up  or  pass  it  on,  or 
do  anything  with  it  except  stand  and  marvel — it  is  a  rare  visit- 
ant and  capricious  as  the  wind,  and  generally  makes  sad  havoc 
among  the  conventionalities  of  men.  It  is  as  I  said  an  *  up- 
per' thing,  beyond  earthly  smells  and  savours, — and  those  who 
have  it  always  live  in  unknown  high  latitudes.  But  money  is 
a  perfectly  level  commodity, — level  with  the  ground  ; — when 
you  have  much  of  it,  you  come  down  solidly  on  your  flat 
soles,  and  down  you  stay  !" 

I  laughed. 

"  Upon  my  word  you  preach  very  eloquently  against 
wealth?"  I  said — "You  yourself  are  unusually  rich, — are  you 
sorry  for  it  ?" 

"No,  I  am  not  sorry  because  being  sorry  would  be  no 
use" — he  returned — "  And  I  never  waste  my  time.  But  I  am 
telling  you  the  truth — Genius  and  great  riches  hardly  ever  pull 
together.  Now  I,  for  example,— you  cannot  imagine  what 
great  capabilities  I  had  once  ! — a  long  time  ago — before  I 
became  my  own  master  ! " 

"And  you  have  them  still  I  am  sure," — I  averred,  looking 
expressively  at  his  noble  head  and  fine  eyes. 

The  strange  subtle  smile  I  had  noticed  once  or  twice  before 
lightened  his  face.  "  Ah,  you  mean  to  compliment  me  !"  he 
said — "You  like  my  looks, — many  people  do.  Yet  after  all 
there  is  nothing  so  deceptive  as  one's  outward  appearance. 
The  reason  of  this  is,  that  as  soon  as  childhood  is  past,  we 
are  always  pretending  to  be  what  we  are  not, — and  thus,  with 


THE  SORROWS   OF   SATAN  37 

constant  practice  from  our  youth  up,  we  manage  to  make  our 
physical  frames  complete  disguises  for  our  actual  selves.  It  is 
really  wise  and  clever  of  us, — for  hence  each  individual  is  so 
much  flesh-wall  through  which  neither  friend  nor  enemy  can 
spy.  Every  man  is  a  solitary  soul  imprisoned  in  a  self-made 
den, — when  he  is  quite  alone  he  knows  and  frequently  hates 
himself, — sometimes  he  even  gets  afraid  of  the  gaunt  and  mur- 
derous monster  he  keeps  hidden  behind  his  outwardly  pleasant 
body-mask,  and  hastens  to  forget  its  frightful  existence  in 
drink  and  debauchery.  That  is  what  I  do  occasionally, — you 
would  not  think  it  of  me,  would  you?" 

*'  Never  !"  I  replied  quickly,  for  something  in  his  voice  and 
aspect  moved  me  strangely — ' '  You  belie  yourself,  and  wrong 
your  own  nature." 

He  laughed  softly. 

**  Perhaps  I  do  !"  he  said  carelessly — *'  This  much  you  may 
believe  of  me — that  I  am  no  worse  than  most  men  !  Now  to 
return  to  the  subject  of  your  literary  career, — you  have  written 
a  book  you  say, — well,  publish  it  and  see  the  result — if  you 
only  make  one  *  hit'  that  is  something.  And  there  are  ways 
of  arranging  that  the  '  hit'  shall  be  made.  What  is  your 
story  about?     I  hope  it  is  improper  ?" 

'^  It  certainly  is  not," — I  replied  warmly — "  It  is  a  romance 
dealing  with  the  noblest  forms  of  life  and  highest  ambitions, 
— I  wrote  it  with  the  intention  of  elevating  and  purifying  the 
thoughts  of  my  readers,  and  wished  if  I  could,  to  comfort 
those  who  'lad  suffered  loss  or  sorrow — ' ' 

Rimanez  smiled  compassionately. 

*'  x\h,  it  won't  do  !"  he  interrupted — ''  I  assure  you  it  won't; 
it  doesn't  fit  the  age.  It  might  go  down,  possibly,  if  you 
could  give  a  '  first-night'  of  it  as  it  were  to  the  critics,  like 
one  of  my  most  intimate  friends  Henry  Irving, — a  *  first- 
night'  combined  with  an  excellent  supper  and  any  amount 
of  good  drinks  going.  Otherwise  it's  no  use.  If  it  is  to 
succeed  by  itself,  it  must  not  attempt  to  be  literature, — it 
must  simply  be  indecent.     As  indecent  as  you  can  make  it 

4 


38  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

without  offending  advanced  women, — that  is  giving  you  a 
good  wide  margin.  Put  in  as  much  as  you  can  about  sexual 
matters  and  the  bearing  of  children, — in  brief,  discourse  of 
men  and  women  simply  as  cattle  who  exist  merely  for  breed- 
ing purposes,  and  your  success  will  be  enormous.  There's 
not  a  critic  living  who  won't  applaud  you, — there's  not  a 
school-girl  of  fifteen  who  will  not  gloat  over  your  pages  in 
the  silence  of  her  virginal  bedroom  !" 

Such  a  flash  of  withering  derision  darted  from  his  eyes  as 
startled  me, — I  could  find  no  words  to  answer  him  for  the 
moment,  and  he  went  on — 

'*  What  put  it  into  your  head,  my  dear  Tempest,  to  write 
a  book  dealing  with,  as  you  say,  '  the  noblest  forms  of  life'  ? 
There  are  no  noble  forms  of  life  left  on  this  planet, — it  is  all 
low  and  commercial, — man  is  a  pigmy,  and  his  aims  are 
pigmy  like  himself.  For  noble  forms  of  life  seek  other 
worlds  ! — there  are  others.  Then  again,  people  don't  want 
their  thoughts  raised  or  purified  in  the  novels  they  read  for 
amusement — they  go  to  church  for  that,  and  get  very  bored 
during  the  process.  And  why  should  you  wish  to  comfort 
folks  who,  out  of  their  own  sheer  stupidity  generally,  get  into 
trouble?  They  wouldn't  comfort jj^^^^, — they  would  not  give 
you  sixpence  to  save  you  from  starvation.  My  good  fellow, 
leave  your  quixotism  behind  you  with  your  poverty.  Live 
your  life  to  yourself, — if  you  do  anything  for  others  they  will 
only  treat  you  with  the  blackest  ingratitude, — so  take  my 
advice,  and  don't  sacrifice  your  own  personal  interests  for 
any  consideration  whatever." 

He  rose  from  the  table  as  he  spoke  and  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  bright  fire,  smoking  his  cigar  tranquilly, — and  I  gazed 
at  his  handsome  figure  and  face  with  just  the  faintest  thrill  of 
pained  doubt  darkening  my  admiration. 

''  If  you  were  not  so  good-looking  I  should  call  you  heart- 
less"— I  said  at  last — ''But  your  features  are  a  direct  con- 
tradiction to  your  words.  You  have  not  really  that  indif- 
ference to  human  nature  which  you  strive  to  assume, — your 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  39 

whole  aspect  betokens  a  generosity  of  spirit  which  you  cannot 
conquer  if  you  would.  Besides  are  you  not  always  trying  to 
do  good  ?' ' 

He  smiled. 

"Always!  That  is,  I  am  always  at  work  endeavouring  to 
gratify  every  man's  desire.  Whether  that  is  good  of  me,  or 
bad,  remains  to  be  proved.  Men's  wants  are  almost  illimit- 
able,— the  only  thing  none  of  them  ever  seem  to  wish,  so  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  is  to  cut  my  acquaintance  ! ' ' 

"■  Why,  of  course  not  !  After  once  meeting  you,  how  could 
they  !"  I  said,  laughing  at  the  absurdity  of  the  suggestion. 

He  gave  me  a  whimsical  side-look. 

"  Their  desires  are  not  always  virtuous,"  he  remarked,  turn- 
ing to  flick  off  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  grate. 

"  But  of  course  you  do  not  gratify  them  in  their  vices  !"  I 
rejoined,  still  laughing — ''  That  would  be  playing  the  part  of 
a  benefactor  somewhat  too  thoroughly  !" 

"Ah  now  I  see  we  shall  flounder  in  the  quicksands  of 
theory  if  we  go  any  further" — he  said — "  You  forget,  my  dear 
fellow,  that  nobody  can  decide  as  to  what  is  vice,  or  what  is 
virtue.  These  things  are  chameleon-like  and  take  difi^erent 
colours  in  different  countries.  Abraham  had  two  or  three 
wives  and  several  concubines,  and  he  was  the  very  soul  of 
virtue  according  to  sacred  lore, — whereas  my  Lord  Tom- 
Noddy  in  London  to-day  has  one  wife  and  several  concu- 
bines, and  is  really  very  much  like  Abraham  in  other  par- 
ticulars, yet  he  is  considered  a  very  dreadful  person.  'Who 
shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree!'  Let's  drop  the  sub- 
ject, as  we  shall  never  settle  it.  What  shall  we  do  with  the 
rest  of  the  evening  ?  There  is  a  stout-limbed  shrewd  wench 
at  the  Tivoli,  dancing  her  way  into  the  aff"ections  of  a 
ricketty  little  Duke, — shall  we  go  and  watch  the  admirable 
contortions  with  which  she  is  wriggling  into  a  fixed  position 
among  the  English  aristocracy  ?  Or  are  you  tired,  and  would 
you  prefer  a  long  night's  rest?" 

To  tell  the  truth  I  was  thoroughly  fatigued,  and  mentally 


40  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

as  well  as  physically  worn  out  with  the  excitements  of  the  day, 
— my  head  too  was  heavy  with  the  wine  to  which  I  had  so 
long  been  unaccustomed. 

''  Upon  my  word  I  think  I  would  rather  go  to  bed  than 
anything, — "  I  confessed — "  But  what  about  my  room?" 

''  Oh,  Amiel  will  have  attended  to  that  for  you, — we'll  ask 
him. ' '    And  he  touched  the  bell.     His  valet  instantly  appeared. 

*'  Have  you  got  a  room  for  Mr  Tempest  ?" 

*'Yes,  your  Excellency.  An  apartment  in  this  corridor 
almost  facing  your  Excellency's  suite.  It  is  not  as  well  fur- 
nished as  it  might  be,  but  I  have  made  it  as  comfortable  as  I 
can  for  the  night." 

"  Thanks  very  much  ! "  I  said — ''I  am  greatly  obliged  to 
you." 

Amiel  bowed  deferentially. 

** Thank jw/-,  sir." 

He  retired,  and  I  moved  to  bid  my  host  good-night.  He 
took  my  proffered  hand,  and  held  it  in  his,  looking  at  me 
curiously  the  while. 

**I  like  you,  Geoffrey  Tempest,"  he  said — ''And  because 
I  like  you,  and  because  I  think  there  are  the  makings  of 
something  higher  than  mere  earthy  brute  in  you,  I  am  going 
to  make  you  what  you  may  perhaps  consider  rather  a  singular 
proposition.  It  is  this, — that  if  you  don't  like  vie,  say  so  at 
once,  and  we  will  part  now,  before  we  have  time  to  know 
anything  more  of  each  other,  and  I  will  endeavour  not  to 
cross  your  path  again  unless  you  seek  me  out.  But  if  on 
the  contrary,  you  do  like  me, — if  you  find  something  in  my 
humour  or  turn  of  mind  congenial  to  your  own  disposition, 
give  me  your  promise  that  you  will  be  my  friend  and  com- 
rade for  a  while,  say  for  a  few  months  at  any  rate.  I  can 
take  you  into  the  best  society,  and  introduce  you  to  the 
prettiest  women  in  Europe,  as  well  as  the  most  brilliant  men. 
I  know  them  all,  and  I  believe  I  can  be  useful  to  you.  But 
if  there  is  the  smallest  aversion  to  me  lurking  in  the  depths 
of  your  nature," — here  he  paused, — then  resumed  with  ex- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  41 

traordinary  solemnity — ''in  God's  name  give  it  full  way  and 
let  me  go, — because  I  swear  to  you  in  all  sober  earnest  that  I 
am  not  what  I  seem  !" 

Strongly  impressed  by  his  strange  look  and  stranger  manner, 
I  hesitated  one  moment, — and  on  that  moment,  had  I  but 
known  it,  hung  my  future.  It  was  true, — I  had  felt  a  passing 
shadow  of  distrust  and  repulsion  for  this  fascinating  yet 
cynical  man,  and  he  seemed  to  have  guessed  it.  But  now 
every  suspicion  of  him  vanished  from  my  mind,  and  I  clasped 
his  hand  with  renewed  heartiness. 

"My  dear  fellow,  your  warning  comes  too  late!"  I  said 
mirthfully — "Whatever  you  are,  or  whatever  you  choose  to 
think  you  are,  I  find  you  most  sympathetic  to  my  disposition, 
and  I  consider  myself  most  fortunate  in  knowing  you.  My 
old  friend  Carrington  has  indeed  done  me  a  good  turn  in 
bringing  us  together,  and  I  assure  you  I  shall  be  proud  of 
your  companionship.  You  seem  to  take  a  perverse  delight 
in  running  yourself  down  ! — but  you  know  the  old  adage, 
'  the  devil  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted'  ?" 

"  And  that  is  true  !"  he  murmured  dreamily — "  Poor  devil ! 
— His  faults  are  no  doubt  much  exaggerated  by  the  clergy  ! 
And  so  we  are  to  be  friends  ?' ' 

"  I  hope  so  !     I  shall  not  be  the  first  to  break  the  compact !" 

His  dark  eyes  rested  upon  me  thoughtfully,  yet  there  seemed 
to  be  a  lurking  smile  in  them  as  well. 

"Compact  is  a  good  word" — he  said — "So, — a  compact 
we  will  consider  it.  I  meant  to  improve  your  material  for- 
tunes,— you  can  dispense  with  that  aid  now ;  but  I  think  I 
can  still  be  of  service  in  pushing  you  on  in  society.  And  love 
— of  course  you  will  fall  in  love,  if  you  have  not  already  done 
so, — have  you  ?' ' 

"Not  I!"  I  answered  quickly  and  with  truth — "I  have 
seen  no  woman  yet  who  perfectly  fulfils  my  notions  of 
beauty. ' ' 

He  burst  out  laughing  violently. 

"  Upon  my  word  you  are  not  wanting  in  audacity  !"  he  said 


42  THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

— "Nothing  but  perfect  beauty  will  suit  you,  eh?  But  con- 
sider, my  friend,  you,  though  a  good-looking  well-built  man, 
are  not  yourself  quite  a  Phoebus  Apollo  !" 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter" — I  rejoined — 
"A  man  should  choose  a  wife  with  a  careful  eye  to  his  own 
personal  gratification,  in  the  same  way  that  he  chooses  horses 
or  wine, — perfection  or  nothing." 

"And  the  woman?" — Rimanez  demanded,  his  eyes  twink- 
ling. 

"The woman  has  really  no  right  of  choice," — I  responded, 
for  this  was  my  pet  argument  and  I  took  pleasure  in  setting  it 
forth — "  She  must  mate  wherever  she  has  the  chance  of  being 
properly  maintained.  A  man  is  always  a  man, — a  woman 
is  only  a  man's  appendage,  and  without  beauty  she  can- 
not put  forth  any  just  claim  to  his  admiration  or  his  sup- 
port." 

"Right! — very  right,  and  logically  argued!" — he  ex- 
claimed,— becoming  preternaturally  serious  in  a  moment — "I 
myself  have  no  sympathy  with  the  new  ideas  that  are  in  vogue 
concerning  the  intellectuality  of  woman.  She  is  simply  the 
female  of  man, — she  has  no  real  soul  save  that  which  is  a 
reflex  of  his,  and  being  destitute  of  logic,  she  is  incapable  of 
forming  a  correct  opinion  on  any  subject.  All  the  imposture 
of  religion  is  kept  up  by  this  unmathematical  hysterical  crea- 
ture,— and  it  is  curious,  considering  how  inferior  a  being 
she  is,  what  mischief  she  has  contrived  to  make  in  the  world, 
upsetting  the  plans  of  the  wisest  kings  and  counsellors, 
who  as  mere  men,  should  undoubtedly  have  mastered  her  1 
And  in  the  present  age  she  is  becoming  more  than  ever 
unmanageable." 

"It  is  only  a  passing  phase," — I  returned  carelessly — "A 
fad  got  up  by  a  few  unloved  and  unlovable  types  of  the  femi- 
nine sex.  I  care  very  little  for  women — I  doubt  whether  I 
shall  ever  marry." 

"Well  you  have  plenty  of  time  to  consider,  and  amuse 
yourself  with  the  fair  ones  en  passant'' — he  said  watching  me 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  43 

narrowly — ''And  in  the  meantime  I  can  take  you  round 
the  different  marriage-markets  of  the  world  if  you  choose, 
though  the  largest  one  of  them  all  is  of  course  this  very 
metropolis.  Splendid  bargains  to  be  had,  my  dear  friend  ! 
— wonderful  blonde  and  brunette  specimens  going  really  very 
cheap.  We'll  examine  them  at  our  leisure.  I'm  glad  you 
have  yourself  decided  that  we  are  to  be  comrades, — for  I  am 
proud  ; — I  may  say  damnably  proud  ; — and  never  stay  in  any 
man's  company  when  he  expresses  the  slightest  wish  to  be  rid 
of  me.     Good-night  !" 

''  Good-night !"  I  responded.  We  clasped  hands  again,  and 
they  were  still  interlocked,  when  a  sudden  flash  of  lightning 
blazed  vividly  across  the  room,  followed  instantaneously  by  a 
terrific  clap  of  thunder.  The  electric  lights  went  out,  and 
only  the  glow  of  the  fire  illumined  our  faces.  I  was  a  little 
startled  and  confused, — the  prince  stood  still,  quite  uncon- 
cerned, his  eyes  shining  like  those  of  a  cat  in  the  darkness. 

*'  What  a  storm  !"  he  remarked  lightly — "  Such  thunder  in 
winter  is  rather  unusual.     Amiel  !" 

The  valet  entered,  his  sinister  countenance  resembling  a 
white  mask  made  visible  in  the  gloom. 

"  These  lamps  have  gone  out" — said  his  master — *'  It's  very 
odd  that  civilized  humanity  has  not  yet  learned  the  complete 
management  of  the  electric  light.  Can  you  put  them  in  order, 
Amiel?" 

'*  Yes,  your  Excellency."  And  in  a  few  moments,  by  some 
dexterous  manipulation  which  I  did  not  understand  and  could 
not  see,  the  crystal-cased  jets  shone  forth  again  with  renewed 
brilliancy.  Another  peal  of  thunder  crashed  overhead,  fol- 
lowed by  a  downpour  of  rain. 

"Really  remarkable  weather  for  January," — said  Rimanez, 
again  giving  me  his  hand — "  Good-night,  my  friend  !  Sleep 
well." 

"If  the  anger  of  the  elements  will  permit  !"  I  returned, 
smiling. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  elements.     Man  has  nearly  mastered 


44  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

them  or  soon  will  do  so,  now  that  he  is  getting  gradually 
convinced  there  is  no  Deity  to  interfere  in  his  business. 
Amiel,  show  Mr  Tempest  to  his  room." 

Amiel  obeyed,  and  crossing  the  corridor,  ushered  me  into 
a  large,  luxurious  apartment,  richly  furnished,  and  lit  up  by 
the  blaze  of  a  bright  fire.  The  comforting  warmth  shone 
welcome  upon  me  as  I  entered,  and  I  who  had  not  experi- 
enced such  personal  luxury  since  my  boyhood's  days,  felt 
more  than  ever  overpowered  by  the  jubilant  sense  of  my  sud- 
den extraordinary  good  fortune.  Amiel  waited  respectfully, 
now  and  then  furtively  glancing  at  me  with  an  expression 
which  to  my  fancy  had  something  derisive  in  it. 

*'  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  sir?"  he  inquired. 

''No,  thank  you" — I  answered,  endeavouring  to  throw  an 
accent  of  careless  condescension  into  my  voice — for  somehow 
I  felt  this  man  must  be  kept  strictly  in  his  place — "  you  have 
been  very  attentive, — I  shall  not  forget  it." 

A  slight  smile  flickered  over  his  features. 

''  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir.     Good-night." 

And  he  retired,  leaving  me  alone.  I  paced  the  room  up 
and  down  more  dreamily  than  consciously,  trying  to  think, — 
trying  to  set  in  order  the  amazing  events  of  the  day,  but  my 
brain  was  still  dazed  and  confused,  and  the  only  image  of 
actual  prominence  in  my  mind  was  the  striking  and  remarkable 
personality  of  my  new  friend  Rimanez.  His  extraordinary 
good  looks,  his  attractive  manner,  his  curious  cynicism  which 
was  so  oddly  mixed  with  some  deeper  sentiment  to  which  I 
could  not  give  a  name,  all  the  trifling  yet  uncommon  peculiar- 
ities of  his  bearing  and  humour,  haunted  me  and  became  in- 
dissolubly  mingled  as  it  were  with  myself  and  all  the  circum- 
stances concerning  me.  I  undressed  before  the  fire,  listening 
drowsily  to  the  rain,  and  the  thunder  which  was  now  dying 
off  into  sullen  echoes. 

''Geoffrey  Tempest,  the  world  is  before  you" — I  said, 
apostrophizing  myself  indolently — "you  are  a  young  man, — 
you  have  health,  a  good  appearance,  and  brains, — added  to 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  45 

these  you  now  have  five  millions  of  money,  and  a  wealthy 
prince  for  your  friend.  What  more  do  you  want  of  Fate  or 
Fortune  ?  Nothing — except  fame  !  And  that  you  will  get 
easily,  for  now-a-days  even  fame  is  purchasable — like  love. 
Your  star  is  in  the  ascendant, — no  more  literary  drudgery  for 
you  my  boy  ! — pleasure  and  profit  and  ease  are  yours  to  enjoy 
for  the  rest  of  your  life.  You  are  a  lucky  dog  ! — at  last  you 
have  your  day  ! ' ' 

I  flung  myself  upon  the  soft  bed,  and  settled  myself  to 
sleep, — and  as  I  dozed  off,  I  still  heard  the  rumble  of  heavy 
thunder  in  the  distance.  Once  I  fancied  I  heard  the  prince's 
voice  calling  "Amiel!  Amiel !"  with  a  wildness  resembling 
the  shriek  of  an  angry  wind, — and  at  another  moment  I  started 
violently  from  a  profound  slumber  under  the  impression  that 
someone  had  approached  and  was  looking  fixedly  at  me.  I 
sat  up  in  bed,  peering  into  the  darkness,  for  the  fire  had  gone 
out ; — then  I  turned  on  a  small  electric  night-lamp  at  my  side 
which  fully  illumined  the  room, — there  was  no  one  there. 
Yet  my  imagination  played  me  such  tricks  before  I  could  rest 
again  that  I  thought  I  heard  a  hissing  whisper  near  me  that 
said — 

^^ Peace!  Trouble  him  not.  Let  the  fool  in  his  folly 
sleep!" 


V 

The  next  morning  on  rising,  I  learned  that  *  his  Excel- 
lency' as  Prince  Rimanez  was  called  by  his  own  servants  and 
the  employes  of  the  *  Grand,'  had  gone  out  riding  in  the 
Park,  leaving  me  to  breakfast  alone.  I  therefore  took  that 
meal  in  the  public  room  of  the  hotel,  where  I  was  waited  upon 
with  the  utmost  obsequiousness,  in  spite  of  my  shabby  clothes, 
which  I  was  of  course  still  compelled  to  wear,  having  no 
change.  When  would  I  be  pleased  to  lunch  ?  At  what  hour 
would  I  dine  ?     Should  my  present  apartment  be  retained  ? — 


46  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

or  was  it  not  satisfactory?  Would  I  prefer  a  'suite'  similar  to 
that  occupied  by  his  Excellency?  All  these  deferential  ques- 
tions first  astonished  and  then  amused  me, — some  mysterious 
agency  had  evidently  conveyed  the  rumor  of  my  wealth  among 
those  best  fitted  to  receive  it,  and  here  was  the  first  result.  In 
reply  I  said  my  movements  were  uncertain, — I  should  be  able 
to  give  definite  instructions  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours,  and 
that  in  the  meantime  I  retained  my  room.  The  breakfast 
over,  I  sallied  forth  to  go  to  my  lawyers,  and  was  just  about  to 
order  a  hansom  when  I  saw  my  new  friend  coming  back  from 
his  ride.  He  bestrode  a  magnificent  chestnut  mare,  whose 
wild  eyes  and  strained  quivering  limbs  showed  she  was  fresh 
from  a  hard  gallop  and  was  scarcely  yet  satisfied  to  be  under 
close  control.  She  curveted  and  danced  among  the  carts  and 
cabs  in  a  somewhat  risky  fashion,  but  she  had  her  master  in 
Rimanez,  who  if  he  had  looked  handsome  by  night  looked 
still  more  so  by  day,  with  a  slight  colour  warming  the  natural 
pallor  of  his  complexion  and  his  eyes  sparkling  with  all  the 
zest  of  exercise  and  enjoyment.  I  waited  for  his  approach,  as 
did  also  Amiel,  who  as  usual  timed  his  appearance  in  the  hotel 
corridor  in  exact  accordance  with  the  moment  of  his  master's 
arrival.  Rimanez  smiled  as  he  caught  sight  of  me,  touching 
his  hat  with  the  handle  of  his  whip  by  way  of  salutation. 

*' You  slept  late.  Tempest" — he  said,  as  he  dismounted  and 
threw  the  reins  to  a  groom  who  had  cantered  up  after  him, — 
*'  Tomorrow  you  must  come  with  me  and  join  what  they  call 
in  fashionable  slang  parlance  the  Liver  Brigade.  Once  upon 
a  time  it  was  considered  the  height  of  indelicacy  and  low 
breeding  to  mention  the  '  liver'  or  any  other  portion  of  one's 
internal  machinery, — but  we  have  done  with  all  that  now, 
and  we  find  a  peculiar  satisfaction  in  discoursing  of  disease 
and  unsavoury  medical  matters  generally.  And  in  the  Liver 
Brigade  you  see  at  a  glance  all  those  interesting  fellows  who 
have  sold  themselves  to  the  devil  for  the  sake  of  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Egypt, — men  who  eat  till  they  are  well-nigh  bursting, 
and  then  prance  up  and  down  on  good  horses, — much  too 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  47 

respectable  beasts  by  the  way  to  bear  such  bestial  burdens — 
in  the  hope  of  getting  out  of  their  poisoned  blood  the  evil 
they  have  themselves  put  in.  They  think  me  one  of  them, 
but  I  am  not." 

He  patted  his  mare,  and  the  groom  led  her  away,  the  foam 
of  her  hard  ride  still  flecking  her  glossy  chest  and  forelegs. 

"Why  do  you  join  the  procession  then  !"  I  asked  him, 
laughing  and  glancing  at  him  with  undisguised  approval  as  I 
spoke,  for  he  seemed  more  admirably  built  than  ever  in  his 
well-fitting  riding  gear — "  You  are  a  fraud  !" 

"I  am!"  he  responded  lightly — "And  do  you  know  I  am 
not  the  only  one  in  London  !     Where  are  you  off  to  ?' ' 

"  To  those  lawyers  who  wrote  to  me  last  night ; — Bentham 
and  Ellis  is  the  name  of  the  firm.  The  sooner  I  interview 
them  the  better;  don't  you  think  so?" 

"Yes — but  see  here," — and  he  drew  me  aside — "You 
must  have  some  ready  cash.  It  doesn't  look  well  to  apply  at 
once  for  advances, — and  there  is  really  no  necessity  to  ex- 
plain to  these  legal  men  that  you  were  on  the  verge  of  starva- 
tion when  their  letter  arrived.  Take  this  pocket-book, — re- 
member you  promised  to  let  me  be  your  banker, — and  on 
your  way  you  might  go  to  some  well-reputed  tailor  and  get 
properly  rigged  out.     Ta-ta  !" 

He  moved  off  at  a  rapid  pace, — I  hurried  after  him,  touched 
to  the  quick  by  his  kindness, 

"  But  wait — I  say — Lucio  !"  And  I  called  him  thus  by  his 
familiar  name  for  the  first  time.  He  stopped  at  once  and 
stood  quite  still. 

"  Well?"  he  said,  regarding  me  with  an  attentive  smile. 

"You  don't  give  me  time  to  speak" — I  answered  in  a  low 
voice,  for  we  were  standing  in  one  of  the  public  corridors  of 
the  hotel — "The  fact  is  I  have  some  money,  or  rather  I  can 
get  it  directly, — Carrington  sent  me  a  draft  for  fifty  pounds 
in  his  letter — I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  it.  It  was  very  good 
of  him  to  lend  it  to  me, — you  had  better  have  it  as  security  for 
this  pocket-book, — by-the-bye  how  much  is  there  inside  it?" 


48  THE  SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

*'  Five  hundred,  in  bank  notes  of  tens  and  twenties," — he 
responded  with  business-like  brevity. 

"Five  hundred!  My  dear  fellow,  I  don't  want  all  that. 
It's  too  much  !" 

*' Better  have  too  much  than  too  little  now-a-days," — he 
retorted  with  a  laugh — "  My  dear  Tempest,  don't  make  such 
a  business  of  it.  Five  hundred  pounds  is  really  nothing. 
You  can  spend  it  all  on  a  dressing-case  for  example.  Better 
send  back  John  Carrington's  draft, — I  don't  think  much  of 
his  generosity  considering  that  he  came  into  a  mine  worth 
a  hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling  a  few  days  before  I  left 
Australia. ' ' 

I  heard  this  with  great  surprise,  and,  I  must  admit  with  a 
slight  feeling  of  resentment  too.  The  frank  and  generous 
character  of  my  old  chum  *  Boffles'  seemed  to  darken  sud- 
denly in  my  eyes, — why  could  he  not  have  told  me  of  his 
good  fortune  in  his  letter  ?  Was  he  afraid  I  might  trouble 
him  for  further  loans?  I  suppose  my  looks  expressed  my 
thoughts,  for  Rimanez,  who  had  observed  me  intently,  pres- 
ently added — 

"Did  he  not  tell  you  of  his  luck?  That  was  not  very 
friendly  of  him — but  as  I  remarked  last  night,  money  often 
spoils  a  man." 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  he  meant  no  slight  by  the  omission,"  I 
said  hurriedly,  forcing  a  smile — "No  doubt  he  will  make  it 
the  subject  of  his  next  letter.  Now  as  to  this  five  hun- 
dred"— 

"Keep  it,  man,  keep  it" — he  interposed  impatiently — 
"  What  do  you  talk  about  security  for  ?  Haven't  I  got  you  as 
security  ?" 

I  laughed.  "Well,  I  am  fairly  reliable  now" — I  said — 
"  And  I'm  not  going  to  run  away." 

"  From  me  .?"  he  queried,  with  a  half  cold,  half  kind  glance. 
"No, — I  fancy  not  !" 

He  waved  his  hand  lightly,  and  left  me,  and  I,  putting  the 
leather  case  of  notes  in   my  inner   breast-pocket,   hailed  a 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  49 

hansom,  and  was  driven  off  rapidly  to  Basinghall  Street  where 
my  sohcitors  awaited  me. 

Arrived  at  my  destination,  I  sent  up  my  name,  and  was 
received  at  once  with  the  utmost  respect  by  two  small  chips 
of  men  in  rusty  black  who  represented  '  the  firm. '  At  my 
request  they  sent  down  their  clerk  to  pay  and  dismiss  my  cab, 
while  I,  opening  Lucio's  pocket  book,  asked  them  to  change 
me  a  ten-pound  note  into  gold  and  silver  which  they  did  with 
ready  good-will.  Then  we  went  into  business  together.  My 
deceased  relative,  whom  I  had  never  seen  as  far  as  I  myself 
remembered,  but  who  had  seen  me  as  a  motherless  baby  in 
my  nurse's  arms,  had  left  me  everything  he  possessed  uncon- 
ditionally, including  several  rare  collections  of  pictures,  jewels 
and  curios.  His  will  was  so  concisely  and  clearly  worded 
that  there  were  no  possibilities  of  any  legal  hair-splitting  over 
it, — and  I  was  informed  that  in  a  week  or  ten  days  at  the 
utmost,  everything  would  be  in  order  and  at  my  sole  dispo- 
sition. 

*'You  are  a  very  fortunate  man,  Mr  Tempest" — said  the 
senior  partner,  Mr  Bentham,  as  he  folded  up  the  last  of  the 
papers  we  had  been  looking  through  and  put  it  by — ''At  your 
age  this  princely  inheritance  may  be  either  a  great  boon  to 
you  or  a  great  curse, — one  never  knows.  The  possession  of 
such  enormous  wealth  involves  great  responsibilities." 

I  was  amused  at  what  I  considered  the  impertinence  of  this 
mere  servant  of  the  law  in  presuming  to  moralize  on  my  luck. 

*'  Many  people  would  be  glad  to  accept  such  responsibilities 
and  change  places  with  me," — I  said  with  a  flippant  air — 
**  You  yourself,  for  example  ?' ' 

I  knew  this  remark  was  not  in' good  taste,  but  I  made  it 
wilfully,  feeling  that  he  had  no  business  to  preach  to  me  as 
it  were  on  the  responsibilities  of  wealth.  He  took  no  offence 
however, — he  merely  gave  me  an  observant  side  glance  like 
that  of  some  meditative  crow. 

''No,  Mr  Tempest,  no" — he  said  drily — "I  do  not  think 
I  should  at  all  be  disposed  to  change  places  with  you.  I  feel 
c       d  5 


50  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

very  well  satisfied  as  I  am.  My  brain  is  my  bank,  and  brings 
me  in  quite  sufficient  interest  to  live  upon,  which  is  all  that 
I  desire.  To  be  comfortable,  and  pay  one's  way  honestly  is 
enough  for  me.     I  have  never  envied  the  wealthy." 

"Mr  Bentham  is  a  philosopher," — interposed  his  partner 
Mr  Ellis  smiling — "  In  our  profession  Mr  Tempest,  we  see 
so  many  ups  and  downs  of  life,  that  in  watching  the  variable 
fortunes  of  our  clients,  we  ourselves  learn  the  lesson  of  con- 
tent." 

''Ah,  it  is  a  lesson  that  I  have  never  mastered  till  now  !" 
I  responded  merrily — ''But  at  the  present  moment  I  confess 
myself  satisfied." 

They  each  gave  me  a  formal  little  bow,  and  Mr  Bentham 
shook  hands. 

"  Business  being  concluded,  allow  me  to  congratulate  you," 
he  said  politely — "Of  course,  if  you  should  wish  at  any  time 
to  entrust  your  legal  affairs  to  other  hands  my  partner  and 
myself  are  perfectly  willing  to  withdraw.  Your  deceased 
relative  had  the  highest  confidence  in  us  .   .   .   " 

"As  I  have  also,  I  assure  you" — I  interrupted  quickly — 
"  Pray  do  me  the  favour  to  continue  managing  things  for  me 
as  you  did  for  my  relative  and  be  assured  of  my  gratitude  in 
advance." 

Both  little  men  bowed  again,  and  this  time  Mr  Ellis  shook 
hands. 

"We  shall  do  our  best  for  you,  Mr  Tempest,  shall  we  not 
Bentham?"  Bentham  nodded  gravely.  "And  now  what 
do  you  say — shall  we  mention  it  Bentham  ? — or  shall  we  not 
mention  it  ?" 

"Perhaps,"  responded  Bentham  sententiously — "  it  would 
be  as  well  to  mention  it," 

I  glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  not  understanding  what 
they  rneant.  Mr  Ellis  rubbed  his  hands  and  smiled  depre- 
catingly. 

"The  fact  is  Mr  Tempest,  your  deceased  relative  had  one 
very  curious  idea — he  was  a  shrewd  man  and  a  clever  one, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  51 

but  he  certainly  had  one  very  curious  idea — and  perhaps  if 
he  had  followed  it  up  to  any  extent,  it  might — yes,  it  might 
have  landed  him  in  a  lunatic  asylum  and  prevented  his  dis- 
posing of  his  extensive  fortune  in  the — er — the  very  just  and 
reasonable  manner  he  has  done.  Happily  for  himself  and — 
er — for  you,  he  did  not  follow  it  up,  and  to  the  last  he  re- 
tained his  admirable  business  qualities  and  high  sense  of  recti- 
tude. But  I  do  not  think  he  ever  quite  dispossessed  himself 
ot  the  idea  itself,  did  he  Bentham  ?^ 

Bentham  gazed  meditatively  at  the  round  black  mark  of 
the  gas-burner  where  it  darkened  the  ceiling, 

"  I  think  not, — no,  I  think  not,"  he  answered — "  I  believe 
he  was  perfectly  convinced  of  it." 

"And  what  was  it  ?"  I  asked,  getting  impatient — "  Did  he 
want  to  bring  out  some  patent  ? — a  new  notion  for  a  flying- 
machine,  and  get  rid  of  his  money  in  that  way  ?" 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  and  Mr  Ellis  laughed  a  soft  pleasant  little 
laugh  over  my  suggestion — "No,  my  dear  sir — nothing  of  a 
purely  mechanical  or  commercial  turn  captivated  his  imagina- 
tion. He  was  too  er — yes,  I  think  I  may  say  too  profoundly 
opposed  to  what  is  called  '  progress'  in  the  world  to  aid  it  by 
any  new  invention  or  other  means  whatever.  You  see  it  is  a 
little  awkward  for  me  to  explain  to  .you  what  really  seems  to 
be  the  most  absurd  and  fantastic  notion, — but — to  begin 
with,  we  never  really  knew  how  he  made  his  money,  did  we 
Bentham?" 

Bentham  shook  his  head  and  pursed  his  lips  closely  to- 
gether. 

' '  We  had  to  take  charge  of  large  sums,  and  advise  as  to 
investments  and  other  matters, — but  it  was  not  our  business  to 
inquire  where  the  cash  came  from  in  the  first  place,  was  it, 
Bentham?" 

Again  Bentham  shook  his  head  solemnly. 

"We  were  entrusted  with  it" — went  on  his  partner,  press- 
ing the  tips  of  his  fingers  together  caressingly  as  he  spoke — 
"  and  we  did  our  best  to  fulfil  that  trust— with — er— with  dis- 


52  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

cretion  and  fidelity.  And  it  was  only  after  we  had  been  for 
many  years  connected  in  business  that  our  client  mentioned — 
er — his  idea  ; — a  most  erratic  and  extraordinary  one,  which 
was  briefly  this — that  he  had  sold  himself  to  the  devil,  and 
that  his  large  fortune  was  one  result  of  the  bargain !" 

I  burst  out  laughing  heartily. 

"  What  a  ridiculous  notion  !"  I  exclaimed — "  Poor  man  I — 
a  weak  spot  in  his  brain  somewhere  evidently, — or  perhaps  he 
used  the  expression  as  a  mere  figure  of  speech?" 

"I  think  not" — responded  Mr  Ellis  half  interrogatively, 
still  caressing  his  fingers — "  I  think  our  client  did  not  use  the 
phrase  '  sold  to  the  devil'  as  a  figure  of  speech  merely,  Mr 
Bentham?" 

'*  I  am  positive  he  did  not" — said  Bentham  seriously — ''He 
spoke  of  the  '  bargain'  as  an  actual  and  accomplished  fact. ' ' 

I  laughed  again  with  a  trifle  less  boisterousness. 

"Well,  people  have  all  sorts  of  fancies  now-a-days" — I 
said.  "  What  with  Blavatskyism,  Besantism  and  hypnotism,  it 
is  no  wonder  if  some  folks  still  have  a  faint  credence  in  the 
silly  old  superstition  of  a  devil's  existence.  But  for  a  thor- 
oughly sensible  man  ..." 

*'Yes — er,  yes" — interrupted  Mr  Ellis — "Your  relative 
Mr  Tempest,  7vas  a  thoroughly  sensible  man,  and  this — er — 
this  idea  was  the  only  fancy  that  ever  appeared  to  have  taken 
root  in  his  eminently  practical  mind.  Being  only  an  idea 
it  seemed  hardly  worth  mentioning — but  perhaps  it  is  well 
— Mr  Bentham  agreeing  with  me — that  we  have  mentioned 
it." 

"  It  is  a  satisfaction  and  relief  to  ourselves" — said  Mr  Ben- 
tham, "  to  have  had  it  mentioned." 

I  smiled,  and  thanking  them,  rose  to  go.  They  bowed  to  me 
once  more,  simultaneously,  looking  almost  like  twin  brothers, 
so  identically  had  their  united  practice  of  the  law  impressed 
itself  upon  their  features. 

"Good-day,  Mr  Tempest," — said  Mr  Bentham—"!  need 
scarcely  say  that  we  shall  serve  you  as  we  served  our  late  client, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  53 

to  the  best  of  our  ability.  And  in  matters  where  advice  may 
be  pleasant  or  profitable,  we  may  possibly  be  of  use  to  you. 
May  we  ask  whether  you  require  any  cash  advances  imme- 
diately ?" 

'*  No,  thank  you" — I  answered,  feeling  grateful  to  my  friend 
Rimanez  for  having  placed  me  in  a  perfectly  independent 
position  to  confront  these  solicitors — ''  I  am  amply  pro- 
vided." 

They  seemed,  I  fancied,  a  trifle  surprised  at  this,  but  were 
too  discreet  to  offer  any  remark.  They  wrote  down  my  ad- 
dress at  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  sent  their  clerk  to  show  me  to 
the  door.  I  gave  this  man  half-a-sovereign  to  drink  my  health 
which  he  very  cheerfully  promised  to  do, — then  I  walked 
round  by  the  Law  Courts,  trying  to  realize  that  I  was  not  in 
a  dizzy  dream,  but  that  I  was  actually  and  solidly,  five  times 
a  millionaire.  As  luck  would  have  it,  in  turning  a  corner  I 
jostled  up  against  a  man  coming  the  other  way,  the  very  pub- 
lisher who  had  returned  me  my  rejected  manuscript  the  day 
before. 

**  Hullo  !"  he  exclaimed  stopping  short. 

"Hullo!"  I  rejoined. 

"  Where  are  you  off  to?"  he  went  on — "  Going  to  try  and 
place  that  unlucky  novel  ?  My  dear  boy,  believe  me  it  will 
never  do  as  it  is.   .   .   ." 

"  It  will  do,  it  shall  do" — I  said  calmly — *'I  am  going  to 
publish  it  myself. ' ' 

He  started.  ''Publish  it  yourself!  Good  heavens! — it 
will  cost  you — ah  ! — sixty  or  seventy,  perhaps  a  hundred 
pounds." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  costs  me  a  thousand  !" 

A  red  flush  came  into  his  face,  and  his  eyes  opened  in 
astonishment. 

''I  thought  .  .  .  excuse  me  .  .  ."  he  stammered  awk- 
wardly, ''  I  thought  money  was  scarce  with  you " 

''  It  was,"  I  answered  drily — "  It  isn't  now." 

Then,  his  utterly  bewildered  look,  together  with  the  whole 

5* 


54  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

topsy-turviness  of  things  in  my  altered  position,  struck  me  so 
forcibly  that  I  burst  out  laughing,  wildly  and  with  a  prolonged 
noise  and  violence  that  apparently  alarmed  him,  for  he  began 
looking  nervously  about  him  in  all  directions  as  if  meditating 
flight.     I  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Look  here  man,"  I  said,  trying  to  conquer  my  almost  hys- 
terical mirth — *'  I'm  not  mad — don't  you  think  it, — I'm  only 
a — millionaire  !"  And  I  began  laughing  again  ;  the  situation 
seemed  to  me  so  sublimely  ridiculous.  But  the  worthy  pub- 
lisher did  not  see  it  at  all — and  his  features  expressed  so  much 
genuine  alarm  that  I  made  a  further  effort  to  control  myself 
and  succeeded.  ''  I  assure  you  on  my  word  of  honour  I'm 
not  joking — it's  a  fact.  Last  night  I  wanted  a  dinner,  and 
you  like  a  good  fellow  offered  to  give  me  one, — to-day  I 
possess  five  millions  of  money  !  Don't  stare  so  !  don't  have 
a  fit  of  apoplexy  !  And  as  I  have  told  you,  I  shall  publish 
my  book  myself  at  my  own  expense,  and  it  shall  succeed. 
Oh  I'm  in  earnest,  grim  earnest,  grim  as  death  ! — I've  more  than 
enough  in  my  pocket  book  to  pay  for  its  publication  now  .^" 

I  loosed  my  hold  of  him,  and  he  fell  back  stupefied  and 
confused. 

"God  bless  my  soul!"  he  muttered  feebly — "It's  like  a 
dream  ! — I  was  never  more  astonished  in  my  life  !" 

"  Nor  I !"  I  said,  another  temptation  to  laughter  threaten- 
ing my  composure, — "  But  strange  things  happen  in  life  as 
in  fiction.  And  that  book  which  the  builders — I  mean  the 
readers — rejected,  shall  be  the  headstone  of  the  corner — or 
— the  success  of  the  season.  What  will  you  take  to  bring  it 
out?" 

"Take?     I?     I  bring  it  out  ?" 

"Yes,  you — why  not?  If  I  offer  you  a  chance  to  turn  an 
honest  penny,  shall  your  paid  pack  of  *  readers'  prevent  your 
accepting  it  ?  Fie  !  you  are  not  a  slave, — this  is  a  free 
country.  I  know  the  kind  of  people  who  '  read'  for  you, — 
the  gaunt  unlovable  spinster  of  fifty, — the  dyspeptic  book- 
worm who  is  a  '  literary  failure'  and  can  find  nothing  else  to 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  55 

do  but  scrawl  growling  comments  on  the  manuscript  of 
promising  work, — why  in  heaven's  name  should  you  rely  on 
such  incompetent  opinion?  I'll  pay  you  for  the  publication 
of  my  book  at  as  stiff  a  price  as  you  choose  and  something 
over  for  good-will.  And  I  guarantee  you  another  thing — it 
shall  not  only  make  my  name  as  an  author,  but  yours  as  a 
publisher.  I'll  advertise  royally,  and  I'll  work  the  press. 
Everything  in  this  world  can  be  done  for  money  ..." 

''Stop,  stop," — he  interrupted. — "This  is  so  sudden! 
You  must  let  me  think  of  it — you  must  give  me  time  to  con- 
sider  " 

"  Take  a  day  for  your  meditations  then,"  I  said — ''  But  no 
longer.  For  if  you  don't  say  yes  I'll  get  another  man,  and 
he'll  have  the  big  pickings  instead  of  you.  Be  wise  in  time, 
my  friend  ! — good-day!" 

He  ran  after  me. 

"  Stay, — look  here  !  You're  so  strange,  so  wild — so  erratic 
you  know  !     Your  head  seems  quite  turned  !" 

''It  is !     The  right  way  round  this  time  !" 

"  Dear  dear  me,"  and  he  smiled  benevolently — "Why  you 
don't  give  me  a  chance  to  congratulate  you.  I  really  do,  you 
know — I  congratulate  you  sincerely  !"  And  he  shook  me  by 
the  hand  quite  fervently.  "And  as  regards  the  book,  I 
believe  there  was  really  no  fault  found  with  it  in  the  matter 
of  literary  style  or  quality, — it  was  simply  too — too  tran- 
scendental, and  unlikely  therefore  to  suit  the  public  taste. 
The  Domestic-Iniquity  line  is  what  we  find  pays  best  at 
present.  But  I  will  think  about  it — where  will  a  letter  find 
you?" 

"Grand  Hotel,"  I  responded  i«wardly  amused  at  his  puz- 
zled and  anxious  expression — I  knew  he  was  already  mentally 
calculating  how  much  he  could  make  out  of  me  in  the  pursuit 
of  my  literary  whim — "  Come  there  and  lunch  or  dine  with 
me  to  morrow  if  you  like — only  send  me  a  word  beforehand. 
Reniember,  I  give  you  just  a  day's  grace  to  decide, — it  must 
be  yes  or  no  in  twenty-four  hours  ! ' ' 


56  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

And  with  this  I  left  him,  staring  vaguely  after  me  like  a 
man  who  has  seen  some  nameless  wonder  drop  out  of  the  sky 
at  his  feet.  I  went  on,  laughing  to  myself  inaudibly,  till  I 
saw  one  or  two  passers  by  looking  at  me  so  surprisedly,  that  I 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  must  put  a  disguise  on  my 
thoughts  if  I  would  not  be  taken  for  a  madman.  I  walked 
briskly,  and  presently  my  excitement  cooled  down.  I  resumed 
the  normal  condition  of  the  phlegmatic  Englishman,  who 
considers  it  the  height  of  bad  form  to  display  any  personal 
emotion  whatever,  and  I  occupied  the  rest  of  the  morning  in 
purchasing  some  ready-made  apparel,  which  by  unusual  good 
luck  happened  to  fit  me,  and  also  in  giving  an  extensive,  not 
to  say  extravagant  order  to  a  fashionable  tailor  in  Sackville 
Street  who  promised  me  everything  with  punctuality  and  de- 
spatch. I  next  sent  off  the  rent  I  owed  to  the  landlady  of 
my  former  lodgings,  adding  five  pounds  extra  by  way  of  recog- 
nition of  the  poor  woman's  long  patience  in  giving  me  credit, 
and  general  kindness  towards  me  during  my  stay  in  her  dismal 
house, — and  this  done,  I  returned  to  the  Grand  in  high  spirits, 
looking  and  feeling  very  much  the  better  for  my  ready-made 
outfit.  A  waiter  met  me  in  the  corridor,  and  with  the  most 
obsequious  deference,  informed  me  that  '  his  Excellency  the 
prince'  was  waiting  luncheon  for  me  in  his  own  apartments. 
Thither  I  repaired  at  once,  and  found  my  new  friend  alone  in  his 
sumptuous  drawing-room,  standing  near  the  full  light  of  the 
largest  window  and  holding  in  his  hand  an  oblong  crystal  case 
through  which  he  was  looking  with  an  almost  affectionate 
solicitude. 

"Ah,  Geoffrey!  Here  you  are!"  he  exclaimed — ''I  im- 
agined you  would  get  thropgh  your  business  by  lunch  time,  so 
I  waited." 

"Very  good  of  you  !"  I  said,  pleased  at  the  friendly  famili- 
arity he  displayed  in  thus  calling  me  by  my  Christian  name — 
"  What  have  you  got  there?" 

"A  pet  of  mine" — he  answered,  smiling  slightly — "Did 
you  ever  see  anything  like  it  before?" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  57 


VI 

I  APPROACHED  and  examined  the  box  he  held.  It  was  per- 
forated with  finely  drilled  holes  for  the  admission  of  air,  and 
within  it  lay  a  brilliant  winged  insect  coloured  with  all  the 
tints  and  half-tints  of  the  rainbow. 

''Is  it  alive?"  I  asked. 

*'It  is  alive,  and  has  a  sufficient  share  of  intelligence," — 
replied  Rimanez.  "  I  feed  it,  and  it  knows  me, — that  is  the 
utmost  you  can  say  of  the  most  civilized  human  beings ;  they 
know  what  feeds  them.  It  is  quite  tame  and  friendly  as  you 
perceive," — and  opening  the  case  he  gently  advanced  his  fore- 
finger. The  glittering  beetle's  body  palpitated  with  the  hues 
of  an  opal,  its  radiant  wings  expanded,  and  it  rose  at  once 
to  its  protector's  hand  and  clung  there.  He  lifted  it  out 
and  held  it  aloft,  then  shaking  it  to  and  fro  lightly,  he  ex- 
claimed— 

''  Off,  Sprite  !      Fly,  and  return  to  me  !" 

The  creature  soared  away  through  the  room,  and  round  and 
round  the  ceiling,  looking  like  a  beautiful  iridescent  jewel, 
the  whirr  of  its  wings  making  a  faint  buzzing  sound  as  it 
flew.  I  watched  it  fascinated,  till  after  a  few  graceful  move- 
ments hither  and  thither,  it  returned  to  its  owner's  still  out- 
stretched hand,  and  again  settled  there,  making  no  further 
attempt  to  fly. 

*'  There  is  a  well-worn  platitude  which  declares  that  '  in  the 
midst  of  life  we  are  in  death,'  " — said  the  prince  then  softly, 
bending  his  dark  deep  eyes  on  the  insect's  quivering  wings — 
*'  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  that  maxim  is  wrong  as  so  many  trite 
human  maxims  are.  It  should  be  '  in  the  midst  of  death  we 
are  in  life.'  This  creature  is  a  rare  and  curious  production 
of  death,  but  not  I  believe  the  only  one  of  its  kind.  Others 
have  been   found  under  precisely  similar  circumstances.      I 


58  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

took  possession  of  this  one  myself  in  rather  a  weird  fashion, 
— will  the  story  bore  you  ?" 

''On  the  contrary," — I  rejoined  eagerly,  my  eyes  fixed 
on  the  radiant  bat-shaped  thing  that  glittered  in  the  light  as 
though  its  veins  were  phosphorescent. 

He  paused  a  moment,  watching  me. 

"  Well, — it  happened  simply  thus, — I  was  present  at  the 
uncasing  of  an  Egyptian  female  mummy ; — her  talismans 
described  her  as  a  princess  of  a  famous  royal  house.  Several 
curious  jewels  were  tied  round  her  neck,  and  on  her  chest  was 
a  piece  of  beaten  gold  quarter  of  an  inch  thick.  Underneath 
this  gold  plate,  her  body  was  swathed  round  and  round  in  an 
unusual  number  of  scented  wrappings ;  and  when  these  were 
removed  it  was  discovered  that  the  mummified  flesh  between 
her  breasts  had  decayed  away,  and  in  the  hollow  or  nest  thus 
formed  by  the  process  of  decomposition,  this  insect  I  hold,  was 
found  alive,  as  brilliant  in  colour  as  it  is  now." 

I  could  not  repress  a  slight  nervous  shudder. 

''Horrible!"  I  said — "I  confess,  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
not  care  to  make  a  pet  of  such  an  uncanny  object.  I  should 
kill  it,  I  think." 

He  kept  his  bright  intent  gaze  upon  me. 

"Why?"  he  asked.  "I'm  afraid,  my  dear  Geoffrey,  you 
are  not  disposed  to  study  science.  To  kill  the  poor  thing  who 
managed  to  find  life  in  the  very  bosom  of  death,  is  a  cruel 
suggestion,  is  it  not?  To  me,  this  unclassified  insect  is  a 
valuable  proof  (if  I  needed  one)  of  the  indestructibility  of 
the  germs  of  conscious  existence ;  it  has  eyes,  and  the  senses 
of  taste,  smell,  touch  and  hearing, — and  it  gained  these,  to- 
gether with  its  intelligence,  out  of  the  dead  flesh  of  a  woman 
who  lived,  and  no  doubt  loved  and  sinned  and  suffered,  more 
than  four  thousand  years  ago  !"  He  broke  off, — then  sud- 
denly added — "All  the  same  I  frankly  admit  to  you  that  I 
believe  it  to  be  an  evil  creature.  I  do  indeed  !  But  I  like  it 
none  the  less  for  that.  In  fact  I  have  rather  a  fantastic  notion 
about  it  myself.     I  am  much  inclined  to  accept  the  idea  of  the 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  59 

transmigration  of  souls,  and  so  I  please  my  humour  sometimes 
by  thinking  that  perhaps  the  princess  of  that  Royal  Egyptian 
house  had  a  wicked,  brilliant,  vampire  soul, — and  that  .... 
here  it  is  /' ' 

A  cold  thrill  ran  through  me  from  head  to  foot  at  these 
words,  and  as  I  looked  at  the  speaker  standing  opposite  me 
in  the  wintry  light,  dark  and  tall,  with  the  '  wicked,  brilliant, 
vampire  soul'  clinging  to  his  hand,  there  seemed  to  me  to  be 
a  sudden  hideousness  declared  in  his  excessive  personal  beauty. 
I  was  conscious  of  a  vague  terror ;  but  I  attributed  it  to  the 
gruesome  nature  of  the  story,  and,  determining  to  combat  my 
sensations,  I  examined  the  weird  insect  more  closely.  As  I 
did  so,  its  bright  beady  eyes  sparkled,  I  thought,  vindictively, 
and  I  stepped  back,  vexed  with  myself  at  the  foolish  fear  of 
the  thing  which  overpowered  me. 

*'  It  is  certainly  remarkable," — I  murmured — ''  No  wonder 
you  value  it, — as  a  curiosity.  Its  eyes  are  quite  distinct, 
almost  intelligent  in  fact." 

^'  No  doubt  she  had  beautiful  eyes," — said  Rimanez  smiling. 

*'  She  ?     Whom  do  you  mean  ?" 

*'  The  princess,  of  course  !"  he  answered,  evidently  amused ; 
*'  The  dear  dead  lady, — some  of  whose  personality  must  be  in 
this  creature,  seeing  that  it  had  nothing  but  her  body  to 
nourish  itself  upon." 

And  here  he  replaced  the  creature  in  its  crystal  habitation 
with  the  utmost  care. 

"I  suppose" — I  said  slowly,  ''you,  in  your  pursuit  of 
science,  would  infer  from  this,  that  nothing  actually  perishes 
completely  ?" 

''  Exactly  !"  returned  Rimanez  emphatically.  *'  There,  my 
dear  Tempest,  is  the  mischief, — or  the  deity, — of  things. 
Nothing  can  be  entirely  annihilated  ; — not  even  a  thought." 

I  was  silent,  watching  him  while  he  put  the  glass  case  with 
its  uncanny  occupant  away  out  of  sight. 

''And  now  for  luncheon,"  he  said  gaily,  passing  his  arm 
through  mine — "  You  look  twenty  per  cent,  better  than  when 


6o  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

you  went  out  this  morning,  Geoffrey,  so  I  conclude  your  legal 
matters  are  disposed  of  satisfactorily.  And  what  else  have  you 
done  with  yourself?" 

Seated  at  table  with  the  dark-faced  Amiel  in  attendance,  I 
related  my  morning's  adventures,  dwelling  at  length  on  my 
chance  meeting  with  the  publisher  who  had  on  the  previous 
day  refused  my  manuscript,  and  who  now,  I  felt  sure,  would 
be  only  too  glad  to  close  with  the  offer  I  had  made  him. 
Rimanez  listened  attentively,  smiling  now  and  then. 

''  Of  course  !"  he  said,  when  I  had  concluded.  ''  There  is 
nothing  in  the  least  surprising  in  the  conduct  of  the  worthy 
man.  In  fact  I  think  he  showed  remarkable  discretion  and 
decency  in  not  at  once  jumping  at  your  proposition, — his 
pleasant  hypocrisy  in  retiring  to  think  it  over  shows  him  to 
be  a  person  of  tact  and  foresight.  Did  you  ever  imagine 
that  a  human  being  or  a  human  conscience  existed  that  could 
not  be  bought  ?  My  good  fellow,  you  can  buy  a  king  if  you 
only  give  a  long  price  enough ;  and  the  Pope  will  sell  you  a 
specially  reserved  seat  in  his  heaven  if  you  will  only  hand  him 
the  cash  down  while  he  is  on  earth  !  Nothing  is  given  free  in 
this  world  save  the  air  and  the  sunshine, — everything  else  must 
be  bought, — with  blood,  tears  and  groans  occasionally, — but 
oftenest  with  money." 

I  fancied  that  Amiel,  behind  his  master's  chair,  smiled 
darkly  at  this, — and  my  instinctive  dislike  of  the  fellow  kept 
me  more  or  less  reticent  concerning  my  affairs  till  the  luncheon 
was  over.  I  could  not  formulate  to  myself  any  substantial 
reason  for  my  aversion  to  this  confidential  servant  of  the 
prince's, — but  do  what  I  would,  the  aversion  remained,  and 
increased  each  time  I  saw  his  sullen,  and  as  I  thought,  sneer- 
ing features.  Yet  he  was  perfectly  respectful  and  deferential ; 
I  could  find  no  actual  fault  with  him, — nevertheless  when  at 
last  he  placed  the  coffee,  cognac,  and  cigars  on  the  table  and 
noiselessly  withdrew,  I  was  conscious  of  a  great  relief,  and 
breathed  more  freely.  As  soon  as  we  were  alone,  Rimanez 
lit  a  cigar  and  settled  himself  for  a  smoke,  looking  over  at  me 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  6i 

with  a  personal  interest  and  kindness  which  made  his  hand- 
some face  more  than  ever  attractive. 

*'  Now  let  us  talk" — he  said — "  I  believe  I  am  at  present  the 
best  friend  you  have,  and  I  certainly  know  the  world  better 
than  you  do.  What  do  you  propose  to  make  of  your  life  ? 
Or  in  other  words  how  do  you  mean  to  begin  spending  your 
money?" 

I  laughed.  "Well  I  shan't  provide  funds  for  the  building 
of  a  church,  or  the  endowment  of  a  hospital" — I  said — "I 
shall  not  even  start  a  Free  Library,  for  these  institutions, 
besides  becoming  centres  for  infectious  diseases,  generally 
get  presided  over  by  a  committee  of  local  grocers  who  pre- 
sume to  consider  themselves  judges  of  literature.  My  dear 
Prince  Rimanez,  I  mean  to  spend  my  money  on  my  own 
pleasure,  and  I  daresay  I  shall  find  plenty  of  ways  to  do  it." 

Rimanez  fanned  away  the  smoke  of  his  cigar  with  one  hand, 
and  his  dark  eyes  shone  with  a  peculiarly  vivid  light  through 
the  pale  grey  floating  haze. 

"  With  your  fortune,  you  could  make  hundreds  of  miserable 
people  happy," — he  suggested. 

"Thanks,  I  would  rather  be  happy  myself  first," — I  an- 
swered gaily — "  I  daresay  I  seem  to  you  selfish, — you  are  phil- 
anthropic I  know;  I  am  not." 

He  still  regarded  me  steadily. 

"  You  might  help  your  fellow-workers  in  literature.   ..." 

I  interrupted  him  with  a  decided  gesture. 

"That  I  will  never  do,  my  friend,  though  the  heavens 
should  crack  !  My  fellow- workers  in  literature  have  kicked 
me  down  at  every  opportunity,  and  done  their  best  to  keep 
me  from  earning  a  bare  livelihood, — it  is  my  turn  at  kicking 
now,  and  I  will  show  them  as  little  mercy,  as  little  help,  as 
little  sympathy  as  they  have  shown  me  ! " 

"  Revenge  is  sweet !"  he  quoted  sententiously — "  I  should 
recommend  your  starting  a  high-class  half-crown  magazine." 

"Why?" 

"Can  you  ask?     Just  think  of  the  ferocious  satisfaction  it 

6 


62  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

would  give  you  to  receive  the  manuscripts  of  your  literary 
enemies,  and  reject  them !  To  throw  their  letters  into  the 
waste-paper  basket,  and  send  back  their  poems,  stories,  politi- 
cal articles  and  what  not,  with  '  Returned  with  thanks''  or  ^ Not 
up  to  our  mark'  type-written  on  the  backs  thereof !  To  dig 
knives  into  your  rivals  through  the  medium  of  anonymous 
criticism  !  The  howling  joy  of  a  savage  with  twenty  scalps 
at  his  belt  would  be  tame  in  comparison  to  it !  I  was  an  editor 
once  myself,  and  I  know  !" 

I  laughed  at  his  whimsical  earnestness. 

*'  I  daresay  you  are  right" — I  said — ''  I  can  grasp  the  venge- 
ful position  thoroughly !  But  the  management  of  a  maga- 
zine would  be  too  much  trouble  to  me, — too  much  of  a 
tie." 

^^ Don't  manage  it!  Follow  the  example  of  all  the  big 
editors,  and  live  out  of  the  business  altogether, — but  take  the 
profits !  You  never  see  the  real  editor  of  a  leading  daily  news- 
paper you  know, — you  can  only  interview  the  sub.  The  real 
man  is,  according  to  the  seasons  of  the  year,  at  Ascot,  in  Scot- 
land, at  Newmarket,  or  wintering  in  Egypt, — he  is  supposed 
to  be  responsible  for  everything  in  his  journal,  but  he  is  gen- 
erally the  last  person  who  knows  anything  about  it.  He  relies 
on  his  *  staff' — a  very  bad  crutch  at  times, — and  when  his 
*  staff  are  in  a  difficulty,  they  get  out  of  it  by  saying  they  are 
unable  to  decide  without  the  editor.  Meanwhile  the  editor  is 
miles  away,  comfortably  free  from  worry.  You  could  bam- 
boozle the  public  in  that  way  if  you  liked." 

"■  I  could,  but  I  shouldn't  care  to  do  so,"  I  answered — "■  If 
I  had  a  business,  I  would  not  neglect  it.  I  believe  in  doing 
things  thoroughly." 

"  So  do  I !"  responded  Rimanez  promptly.  '*I  am  a  very 
thorough-going  fellow  myself,  and  whatever  my  hand  findeth 
to  do,  I  do  it  with  my  might ! — excuse  me  for  quoting  Scrip- 
ture!" He  smiled,  a  little  ironically  I  thought,  then  re- 
sumed— ''Well,  in  what,  at  present  does  your  idea  of  enjoy- 
ing your  heritage  consist  ?" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  63 

*'  In  publishing  my  book,"  I  answered.  ''  That  very  book 
I  could  get  no  one  to  accept, — I  tell  you,  I  will  make  it  the 
talk  of  London  !" 

"  Possibly  you  will" — he  said,  looking  at  me  through  half- 
closed  eyes  and  a  cloud  of  smoke, — "London  easily  talks. 
Particularly  on  unsavoury  and  questionable  subjects.  There- 
fore,— as  I  have  already  hinted, — if  your  book  were  a  judi- 
cious mixture  of  Zola,  Huysmans  and  Baudelaire,  or  had 
for  its  heroine  a  *  modest'  maid  who  considered  honourable 
marriage  a  '  degradation,'  it  would  be  quite  sure  of  success  in 
these  days  of  new  Sodom  and  Gomorrah."  Here  he  sud- 
denly sprang  up,  and  flinging  away  his  cigar,  confronted  me. 
"  Why  do  not  the  heavens  rain  fire  on  this  accursed  city  !  It 
is  ripe  for  punishment, — full  of  abhorrent  creatures  not  worth 
the  torturing  in  hell  to  which  it  is  said  liars  and  hypocrites 
are  condemned  !  Tempest,  if  there  is  one  human  being  more 
than  another  that  I  utterly  abhor,  it  is  the  type  of  man  so 
common  to  the  present  time,  the  man  who  huddles  his  own 
loathly  vices  under  a  cloak  of  assumed  broad-mindedness  and 
virtue.  Such  an  one  will  even  deify  the  loss  of  chastity  in 
woman  by  the  name  of  '  purity,'  —  because  he  knows  that  it  is 
by  her  moral  and  physical  ruin  alone  that  he  can  gratify  his 
brutal  lusts.  Rather  than  be  such  a  sanctimonious  coward,  I 
would  openly  proclaim  myself  vile." 

"That  is  because  yours  is  a  noble  nature" — I  said — "You 
are  an  exception  to  the  rule." 

"An  exception?  I?" — and  he  laughed  bitterly — "Yes, 
you  are  right ;  I  am  an  exception  among  men  perhaps, — but 
I  am  one  with  the  beasts, — in  honesty !  The  lion  does  not 
assume  the  manners  of  the  dove, — he  loudly  announces  his 
own  ferocity.  The  very  cobra,  stealthy  though  its  move- 
ments be,  evinces  its  meaning  by  a  warning  hiss  or  rattle. 
The  hungry  wolf's  bay  is  heard  far  down  the  wind,  intimi- 
dating the  hurrying  traveller  among  the  wastes  of  snow. 
But  man  gives  no  clue  to  his  intent — more  malignant  than 
the  lion,  more  treacherous  than  the  snake,  more  greedy  than 


64  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

the  wolf,  he  takes  his  fellow-man's  hand  in  pretended  friend- 
ship, and  an  hour  later  defames  his  character  behind  his 
back, — with  a  smiling  face  he  hides  a  false  and  selfish  heart, 
— flinging  his  pigmy  mockery  at  the  riddle  of  the  Universe, 
he  stands  gibing  at  God,  feebly  a-straddle  on  his  own  earth- 
grave — Heavens!" — here  he  stopped  short  with  a  passionate 
gesture — ''What  should  the  Eternities  do  with  such  a  thank- 
less, blind  worm  as  he  ! " 

His  voice  rang  out  with  singular  emphasis, — his  eyes 
glowed  with  a  fiery  ardour ;  startled  by  his  impressive  manner 
I  let  my  cigar  die  out  and  stared  at  him  in  mute  amazement. 
What  an  inspired  countenance  ! — what  an  imposing  figure  ! — 
how  sovereignly  supreme  and  almost  god -like  in  his  looks  he 
seemed  at  the  moment; — and  yet  there  was  something  terri- 
fying in  his  attitude  of  protest  and  defiance.  He  caught  my 
wondering  glance, — the  glow  of  passion  faded  from  his  face, 
— he  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

''  I  think  I  was  born  to  be  an  actor" — he  said  carelessly — 
**  Now  and  then  the  love  of  declamation  masters  me.  Then 
I  speak — as  Prime  Ministers  and  men  in  Parliament  speak — 
to  suit  the  humour  of  the  hour,  and  without  meaning  a  single 
word  I  say  ! ' ' 

"  I  cannot  accept  that  statement," — I  answered  him,  smiling 
a  little — **  You  do  mean  what  you  say, — though  I  fancy  you 
are  rather  a  creature  of  impulse." 

"  Do  you  really!"  he  exclaimed — ''How  wise  of  you! — 
good  Geoffrey  Tempest,  how  very  wise  of  you  !  But  you 
are  wrong.  There  never  was  a  being  created  who  was  less 
impulsive,  or  more  charged  with  set  purpose  than  I.  Be- 
lieve me  or  not  as  you  like, — belief  is  a  sentiment  that  cannot 
be  forced.  If  I  told  you  that  I  am  a  dangerous  companion, 
— that  I  like  evil  things  better  than  good, — that  I  am  not  a 
safe  guide  for  any  man,  what  would  you  think?" 

"I  should  think  you  were  whimsically  fond  of  underesti- 
mating your  own  qualities" — I  said,  re-lighting  my  cigar,  and 
feeling  somewhat  amused  by  his  earnestness — "And  I  should 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  65 

like  you  just  as  well  as  I  do  now, — perhaps  better, — though 
that  would  be  difficult." 

At  these  words,  he  seated  himself,  bending  his  steadfast  dark 
eyes  full  upon  me. 

'^  Tempest,  you  follow  the  fashion  of  the  prettiest  women 
about  town, — they  always  like  the  greatest  scoundrels  !" 

"  But  you  are  not  a  scoundrel" — I  rejoined,  smoking  peace- 
fully. 

"  No, — I'm  not  a  scoundrel,  but  there's  a  good  deal  of  the 
devil  in  me." 

''AH  the  better  !"  I  said,  stretching  myself  out  in  my  chair 
with  lazy  comfort — ''  I  hope  there's  something  of  him  in  me 
too." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  him?"  asked  Rimanez  smiling. 

''The  devil?  of  course  not." 

"  He  is  a  very  fascinating  legendary  personage" — continued 
the  prince,  lighting  another  cigar  and  beginning  to  puff  at  it 
slowly — "  and  he  is  the  subject  of  many  a  fine  story.  Picture 
his  fall  from  heaven  ! — 'Lucifer,  Son  of  the  Morning' — what 
a  title,  and  what  a  birthright !  To  be  born  of  the  morning 
implies  to  be  a  creature  formed  of  translucent  light  undefiled, 
with  all  the  warm  rose  of  a  million  orbs  of  day  colouring  his 
bright  essence,  and  all  the  lustre  of  fiery  planets  flaming  in 
his  eyes.  Splendid  and  supreme,  at  the  right  hand  of  Deity 
itself  he  stood,  this  majestic  Arch-angel,  and  before  his  un- 
wearied vision  rolled  the  grandest  creative  splendours  of  God's 
thoughts  and  dreams.  All  at  once  he  perceived  in  the  vista 
of  embryonic  things  a  new  small  world,  and  on  it  a  being 
forming  itself  slowly  as  it  were  into  the  Angelic  likeness, — a 
being  weak  yet  strong,  sublime  yet  foolish, — a  strange  para- 
dox, destined  to  work  its  way  through  all  the  phases  of  life, 
till  imbibing  the  very  breath  and  soul  of  the  Creator  it  should 
touch  Conscious  Immortality, — Eternal  Joy.  Then  Lucifer, 
full  of  wrath,  turned  on  the  Master  of  the  Spheres,  and  flung 
forth  his  reckless  defiance,  crying  aloud — '  Wilt  thou  make  of 
this  slight  poor  creature  an  Angel  even  as  I  ?  I  do  protest 
e  6* 


66  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

against  thee  and  condemn  !  Lo,  if  thou  makest  Man  in  Our 
image  I  will  destroy  him  utterly,  as  unfit  to  share  with  me  the 
splendours  of  Thy  Wisdom, — the  glory  of  Thy  love  !'  And 
the  Voice  Supreme,  in  accents  terrible  and  beautiful  replied — 
'  Lucifer,  Son  of  the  Morning,  full  well  dost  thou  know  that 
never  can  an  idle  or  wasted  word  be  spoken  before  Me.  For 
Free-will  is  the  gift  of  the  Immortals ;  therefore  what  thou 
sayest,  thou  must  needs  do  !  Fall,  proud  Spirit  from  thy  high 
estate  ! — thou  and  thy  companions  with  thee  ! — and  return  no 
more  till  Man  himself  redeem  thee  !  Each  human  soul  that 
yields  unto  thy  tempting  shall  be  a  new  barrier  set  between 
thee  and  heaven ;  each  one  that  of  its  own  choice  doth  repel 
and  overcome  thee,  shall  lift  thee  nearer  thy  lost  home  !  When 
the  world  rejects  thee,  I  will  pardon  and  again  receive  thee, — ■ 
but  not  till  thefi.'  " 

"  I  never  heard  exactly  that  version  of  the  legend  before," 
— I  said, — "The  idea  that  Man  should  redeem  the  devil  is 
quite  new  to  me. ' '  , 

**Is  it?"  and  he  looked  at  me  fixedly — ''W^ell — it  is  one 
form  of  the  story,  and  by  no  means  the  most  unpoetical. 
Poor  Lucifer  !  His  punishment  is  of  course  eternal,  and  the 
distance  between  himself  and  Heaven  must  be  rapidly  increas- 
ing every  day, — for  Man  will  never  assist  him  to  retrieve  his 
error.  Man  will  reject  God  fast  enough  and  gladly  enough 
— but  never  the  devil.  Judge  then,  how,  under  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  his  doom,  this  '  Lucifer,  Son  of  the  Morning,' 
Satan,  or  whatever  else  he  is  called,  must  hate  Humanity  !" 

I  smiled.  ''Well  he  has  one  remedy  left  to  him" — I  ob- 
served— "  He  need  not  tempt  anybody." 

"You  forget ! — he  is  bound  to  keep  his  word,  according  to 
the  legend," — said  Rimanez — "  He  swore  before  God  that  he 
would  destroy  Man  utterly, — he  must  therefore  fulfil  that  oath, 
if  he  can.  Angels,  it  would  seem,  may  not  swear  before  the 
Eternal  without  endeavouring  at  least  to  fulfil  their  vows, — 
men  swear  in  the  name  of  God  every  day  without  the  slightest 
intention  of  carrying  out  their  promises." 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  67 

"But  it's  all  the  veriest  nonsense" — I  said  somewhat  im- 
patiently— ''All  these  old  legends  are  rubbish.  You  tell  the 
story  well,  and  almost  as  if  you  believed  in  it, — that  is  because 
you  have  the  gift  of  speaking  with  eloquence,  Now-a-days  no 
one  believes  in  either  devils  or  angels ; — I,  for  example,  do 
not  even  believe  in  the  soul," 

''  I  know  you  do  not" — he  answered  suavely — ''And  your 
scepticism  is  very  comfortable  because  it  relieves  you  of  all 
personal  responsibility,  I  envy  you  !  For — I  regret  to  say,  I 
am  compelled  to  believe  in  the  soul," 

"Compelled!"  I  echoed — "That  is  absurd — no  one  can 
compel  you  to  accept  a  mere  theory." 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  flitting  smile  that  darkened  rather 
than  lightened  his  face. 

"True!  very  true  !  There  is  no  compelling  force  in  the 
whole  Universe, — Man  is  the  supreme  and  independent 
creature, — master  of  all  he  surveys  and  owning  no  other 
dominion  save  his  personal  desire.  True — I  forgot !  Let  us 
avoid  theology,  please,  and  psychology  also, — let  us  talk 
about  the  only  subject  that  has  any  sense  or  interest  in  it — 
namely,  Money.  I  perceive  your  present  plans  are  definite, 
— you  wish  to  publish  a  book  that  shall  create  a  stir  and  make 
you  famous.  It  seems  a  modest  enough  campaign  !  Have 
you  no  wider  ambitions  ?  There  are  several  ways,  you  know, 
of  getting  talked  about.  Shall  I  enumerate  them  for  your 
consideration?" 

I  laughed.      "If  you  like!" 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place  I  should  suggest  your  getting  your- 
self properly  paragraphed.  It  must  be  known  to  the  press 
that  you  are  an  exceedingly  rich  man.  There  is  an  Agency 
for  the  circulation  of  paragraphs, — I  daresay  they'll  do  it 
sufficiently  well  for  about  ten  or  twenty  guineas." 

I  opened  my  eyes  a  little  at  this. 

"  Oh,  is  that  the  way  these  things  are  done?" 

"My  dear  fellow  how  else  should  they  be  done?"  he  de- 
manded somewhat  impatiently — "Do  you  think  anything  in 


68  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

the  world  is  done  without  money?  Are  the  poor,  hardwork- 
ing journalists  your  brothers  or  your  bosom  friends  that  they 
should  lift  you  into  public  notice  without  getting  something 
for  their  trouble?  If  you  do  not  manage  them  properly  in 
this  way,  they'll  abuse  you  quite  heartily  and  free  of  cost, — 
that  I  can  promise  you!  I  know  a  'literary  agent,'  a  very 
worthy  man  too,  who  for  a  hundred  guineas  down,  will  so  ply 
the  paragraph  wheel  that  in  a  few  weeks  it  shall  seem  to  the 
outside  public  that  Geoffrey  Tempest,  the  millionaire,  is  the 
only  person  worth  talking  about,  and  the  one  desirable  crea- 
ture whom  to  shake  hands  with  is  next  in  honour  to  meeting 
Royalty  itself." 

*'  Secure  him  !"  I  said  indolently — ''  And  pay  him  two  hun- 
dred guineas  !     So  shall  all  the  world  hear  of  me  !" 

*' When  you  have  been  paragraphed  thoroughly,"  went  on 
Rimanez — "  the  next  move  will  be  a  dash  into  what  is  called 
'  swagger'  society.  This  must  be  done  cautiously  and  by  de- 
grees. You  must  be  presented  at  the  first  Levee  of  the  season, 
and  later  on,  I  will  get  you  an  invitation  to  some  great  lady's 
house,  where  you  will  meet  the  Prince  of  Wales  privately  at 
dinner.  If  you  can  oblige  or  please  His  Royal  Highness  in 
any  way,  so  much  the  better  for  you, — he  is  at  least  the  most 
popular  among  royal  personages, — so  it  should  not  be  difficult 
to  you  to  make  yourself  agreeable.  Following  upon  this  event, 
you  must  purchase  a  fine  country  seat,  and  have  that  fact  *  para- 
graphed'— then  you  can  rest  and  look  round, — Society  will 
have  taken  you  up,  and  you  will  find  yourself  in  the  swim." 

I  laughed  heartily, — well  entertained  by  his  fluent  discourse. 

**  I  should  not,"  he  resumed — ''  propose  your  putting  your- 
self to  the  trouble  of  getting  into  Parliament.  That  is  no 
longer  necessary  to  the  career  of  a  gentleman.  But  I  should 
strongly  recommend  your  winning  the  Derby." 

''  I  daresay  you  would  !"  I  answered  mirthfully — '^  It's  an 
admirable  suggestion, — but  not  very  easy  to  follow  !" 

''  If  you  wish  to  win  the  Derby,"  he  rejoined  quietly — ''  you 
shall  win  it.     I'll  guarantee  both  horse  and  jockey." 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  69 

Something  in  his  decisive  tone  impressed  me,  and  I  leaned 
forward  to  study  his  features  more  closely. 

*' Are  you  a  worker  of  miracles  !"  I  asked  him  jestingly — 
*'  Do  you  mean  it?" 

"  Try  me  !"  he  responded — "  Shall  I  enter  a  horse  for  you?" 

"If  it  is  not  too  late,  and  you  like  to  do  so" — I  said—"  I 
leave  it  in  your  hands.  But  I  must  tell  you  frankly  I  don't 
take  much  interest  in  racing  matters. ' ' 

''You  will  have  to  amend  your  taste  then" — he  replied — 
"That  is  if  you  want  to  make  yourself  agreeable  to  the  Eng- 
lish aristocracy,  for  they  are  interested  in  little  else.  No 
really  great  lady  is  without  her  betting  book,  though  she  may 
be  deficient  in  her  knowledge  of  spelling.  You  may  make 
the  biggest  literary /z/r^rt-  of  the  season,  and  that  will  count 
as  nothing  among  *  swagger'  people,  but  if  you  win  the  Derby 
you  will  be  a  really  famous  man.  Personally  speaking  I  have 
a  great  deal  to  do  with  racing, — in  fact  I  am  devoted  to  it. 
I  am  always  present  at  every  great  race, — I  never  miss  one ; 
I  always  bet,  and  I  never  lose  !  And  now  let  me  proceed 
with  your  social  plan  of  action.  After  winning  the  Derby 
you  will  enter  for  a  yacht  race  at  Cowes,  and  allow  the  Prince 
of  Wales  to  beat  you  just  narrowly.  Then  you  will  give  a 
grand  dinner,  arranged  by  a  perfect  chef, — and  you  will  enter- 
tain His  Royal  Highness  to  the  strains  of  '  Britannia  rules  the 
waves,'  which  will  serve  as  a  pretty  compliment.  You  will 
allude  to  the  same  well-worn  song  in  a  graceful  speech, — and 
the  probable  result  of  all  this  will  be  one,  or  perhaps  two 
Royal  invitations.  So  far,  so  good.  With  the  heats  of 
summer  you  will  go  to  Homburg  to  drink  the  waters  there 
whether  you  require  them  or  not, — and  in  the  autumn  you 
will  assemble  a  shooting-party  at  the  country  seat  before- 
mentioned,  which  you  will  have  purchased,  and  invite  Roy- 
alty to  join  you  in  killing  the  poor  little  partridges.  Then 
your  name  in  society  may  be  considered  as  made,  and  you 
can  marry  whatever  fair  lady  happens  to  be  in  the  market !" 

"Thanks! — much  obliged!"    and    I   gave   way  to   hearty 


70  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

laughter — "  Upon  my  word  Lucio,  your  programme  is  per- 
fect !      It  lacks  nothing  !" 

'*It  is  the  orthodox  round  of  social  success,"  said  Lucio 
with  admirable  gravity — *'  Intellect  and  originality  have 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it, — only  money  is  needed  to 
perform  it  all." 

"You  forget  my  book" — I  interposed — "I  know  there  is 
some  intellect  in  that,  and  some  originality  too.  Surely  that 
will  give  me  an  extra  lift  up  the  heights  of  fashionable  light 
and  leading." 

''  I  doubt  it !" — he  answered — ''  I  very  much  doubt  it.  It 
will  be  received  with  a  certain  amount  of  favour  of  course,  as 
the  production  of  a  rich  man  amusing  himself  with  litera- 
ture by  way  of  whim.  But,  as  I  told  you  before,  genius 
seldom  develops  itself  under  the  influence  of  wealth.  Then 
again  '  swagger'  folks  can  never  get  it  out  of  their  fuddled 
heads  that  Literature  belongs  to  Grub  Street.  Great  poets, 
great  philosophers,  great  romancists  are  always  vaguely 
alluded  to  by  'swagger'  society  as  'those  sort  of  people.' 
Those  sort  of  people  are  so  '  interesting'  say  the  blue- 
blooded  noodles  deprecatingly,  excusing  themselves  as  it 
w^ere  for  knowing  any  members  of  the  class  literary.  You 
can  fancy  a  '  swagger'  lady  of  Elizabeth's  time  asking  a 
friend — '  O  do  you  mind,  my  dear,  if  I  bring  one  Master 
William  Shakespeare  to  see  you?  He  writes  plays,  and 
does  something  or  other  at  the  Globe  theatre, — in  fact  I'm 
afraid  he  acts  a  little — he's  not  very  well  off  poor  man, — 
but  those  so7't  of  people  are  always  so  amusing!'  Now  you, 
my  dear  Tempest,  are  not  a  Shakespeare,  but  your  millions 
will  give  you  a  better  chance  than  he  ever  had  in  his  life- 
time, as  you  will  not  have  to  sue  for  patronage,  or  practise  a 
reverence  for  'my  lord'  or  'my  lady,' — these  exalted  person- 
ages will  be  only  too  delighted  to  borrow  money  of  you  if 
you  will  lend  it, ' ' 

"  I  shall  not  lend,"— I  said. 

"Nor  give?" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  71 

*'  Nor  give." 

His  keen  eyes  flashed  approval. 

"  I  am  very  glad"  he  observed — "  that  you  are  determined 
not  to  '  go  about  doing  good'  as  the  canting  humbugs  say,  with 
your  money.  You  are  wise.  Spend  on  yourself, — because 
your  very  act  of  spending  cannot  but  benefit  others  through 
various  channels.  Now  I  pursue  a  diff'erent  course.  I  always 
help  charities,  and  put  my  name  on  subscription-lists, — and  I 
never  fail  to  assist  the  clergy. ' ' 

"I  rather  wonder  at  that" — I  remarked — "  Especially  as 
you  tell  me  you  are  not  a  Christian." 

''Yes, — it  does  seem  strange, — doesn't  it?" — he  said  with 
an  extraordinary  accent  of  what  might  be  termed  apologetic 
derision — ''But  perhaps  you  don't  look  at  it  in  the  proper 
light.  The  clergy  are  doing  their  utmost  best  to  destroy 
religion, — by  cant,  by  hypocrisy,  by  sensuality,  by  shams  of 
every  description, — and  when  they  seek  my  help  in  this 
noble  work,  I  give  it, — freely  !" 

I  laughed.  "  You  must  have  your  joke  evidently" — I  said, 
throwing  the  end  of  my  finished  cigar  into  the  fire — "And 
I  see  you  are  fond  of  satirizing  your  own  good  actions. 
Hullo,  what's  this?" 

For  at  that  moment  Amiel  entered,  bearing  a  telegram  for 
me  on  a  silver  salver.  I  opened  it, — it  was  from  my  friend 
the  publisher,  and  ran  as  follows — 

"Accept  book  with  pleasure.  Send  manuscript  immedi- 
ately." 

I  showed  this  to  Rimanez  with  a  kind  of  triumph.  He 
smiled. 

"Of  course!  what  else  did  you  expect?  Only  the  man 
should  have  worded  his  telegram  differently,  for  I  do  not 
suppose  he  would  accept  the  book  with  pleasure  if  he  had 
to  lay  out  his  own  cash  upon  it.  '  Accept  money  for 
publishing  book  with  pleasure'  should  have  been  the 
true  message  of  the  wire.  Well,  what  are  you  going  to 
do?" 


72  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

''I  shall  see  about  this  at  once" — I  answered,  feeling 
a  thrill  of  satisfaction  that  at  last  the  time  of  vengeance 
on  certain  of  my  enemies  was  approaching — "The  book 
must  be  hurried  through  the  press  as  quickly  as  possible, — 
and  I  shall  take  a  particular  pleasure  in  personally  attend- 
ing to  all  the  details  concerning  it.  For  the  rest  of  my 
plans ' ' 

''Leave  them  to  me!"  said  Rimanez  laying  his  finely 
shaped  white  hand  with  a  masterful  pressure  on  my  shoulder ; 
''Leave  them  to  me! — and  be  sure  that  before  very  long  I 
shall  have  set  you  aloft  like  the  bear  who  has  successfully 
reached  the  bun  on  the  top  of  a  greased  pole, — -a  spectacle 
for  the  envy  of  men,  and  the  wonder  of  angels  ! ' ' 


VII 

The  next  three  or  four  weeks  flew  by  in  a  whirl  of  excite- 
ment, and  by  the  time  they  were  ended,  I  found  it  hard  to 
recognize  myself  in  the  indolent,  listless,  extravagant  man  of 
fashion  I  had  so  suddenly  become.  Sometimes  at  stray  and 
solitary  moments  the  past  turned  back  upon  me  like  a  revolving 
picture  in  a  glass  with  a  flash  of  unwelcome  recollection,  and 
I  saw  myself  worn  and  hungry,  and  shabbily  clothed,  bending 
over  my  writing  in  my  dreary  lodging,  wretched,  yet  amid 
all  my  wretchedness  receiving  curious  comfort  from  my  own 
thoughts,  which  created  beauty  out  of  penury,  and  love  out 
of  loneliness.  This  creative  faculty  was  now  dormant  in  me, 
— I  did  very  little  and  thought  less.  But  I  felt  certain  that 
this  intellectual  apathy  was  but  a  passing  phase, — a  mental 
holiday  and  desirable  cessation  from  brain-work  to  which  I 
was  deservedly  entitled  after  all  my  sufferings  at  the  hands 
of  poverty  and  disappointment.  My  book  was  nearly  through 
the  press, — and  perhaps  the  chiefest  pleasure  of  any  I  now 
enjoyed  was  the  correction  of  the  proofs  as  they  passed  under 
my  supervision.     Yet  even  this,  the  satisfaction  of  authorship. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  73 

had  its  drawback, — and  my  particular  grievance  was  some- 
what singular.  I  read  my  own  work  with  gratification  of 
course,  for  I  was  not  behind  my  contemporaries  in  thinking  well 
of  myself  in  all  I  did, — but  my  complacent  literary  egoism  was 
mixed  with  a  good  deal  of  disagreeable  astonishment  and  in- 
credulity, because  my  work,  written  with  enthusiasm  and  feel- 
ing, propounded  sentiments  and  inculcated  theories  which  I 
personally  did  not  believe  in.  Now,  how  had  this  happened,  I 
asked  myself?  Why  had  I  thus  invited  the  public  to  accept  me 
at  a  false  valuation  ?  I  paused  to  consider, — and  I  found  the 
suggestion  puzzling.  How  came  I  to  write  the  book  at  all, 
seeing  that  it  was  utterly  unlike  me  as  I  now  knew  myself? 
My  pen,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  had  written  down 
things  which  my  reasoning  faculties  entirely  repudiated, — 
such  as  belief  in  a  God, — trust  in  the  eternal  possibilities  of 
man's  diviner  progress, — I  credited  neither  of  these  doctrines. 
When  I  imagined  such  transcendental  and  foolish  dreams  I 
was  poor, — starving,— and  without  a  friend  in  the  world; — 
remembering  all  this,  I  promptly  set  down  my  so-called  '  inspi- 
ration' to  the  action  of  an  ill-nourished  brain.  Yet  there  was 
something  subtle  in  the  teaching  of  the  story ;  and  one  after- 
noon when  I  was  revising  some  of  the  last  proof  sheets  I 
caught  myself  thinking  that  the  book  was  nobler  than  its 
writer.  This  idea  smote  me  with  a  sudden  pang, — I  pushed 
my  papers  aside,  and  walking  to  the  window,  looked  out.  It 
was  raining  hard,  and  the  streets  were  black  with  mud  and 
slush, — the  foot-passengers  were  drenched  and  miserable, — 
the  whole  prospect  was  dreary,  and  the  fact  that  I  was  a  rich 
man  did  not  in  the  least  lift  from  my  mind  the  depression  that 
had  stolen  on  me  unawares.  I  was  quite  alone,  for  I  had  my 
own  suite  of  rooms  now  in  the  hotel,  not  far  from  those  occu- 
pied by  Prince  Rimanez  ;  I  also  had  my  own  servant,  a  respect- 
able, good  sort  of  fellow  whom  I  rather  liked  because  he 
shared  to  the  full  the  instinctive  aversion  I  felt  for  the  prince's 
man,  Amiel.  Then  I  had  my  own  carriage  and  horses  with 
attendant  coachman  and  groom, — so  that  the  prince  and  I, 
D  7 


74  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

though  the  most  intimate  friends  in  the  world,  were  able  to 
avoid  that  '  familiarity  which  breeds  contempt'  by  keeping  up 
our  own  separate  establishments.  On  this  particular  afternoon 
I  was  in  a  more  miserable  humour  than  ever  my  poverty  had 
brought  upon  me,  yet  from  a  strictly  reasonable  point  of  view 
I  had  nothing  to  be  miserable  about.  I  was  in  full  possession 
of  my  fortune, — I  enjoyed  excellent  health,  and  I  had  every- 
thing I  wanted,  with  the  added  consciousness  that  if  my  wants 
increased  I  could  gratify  them  easily.  The  '  paragraph  wheel' 
under  Lucio's  management  had  been  worked  with  such  good 
effect  that  I  had  seen  myself  mentioned  in  almost  every  paper 
in  London  and  the  provinces,  as  the  'famous  millionaire,' — 
and  for  the  benefit  of  the  public,  who  are  sadly  uninstructed 
on  these  matters,  I  may  here  state  as  a  very  plain  unvarnished 
truth,  that  for  forty  pounds,*  a  well-known  *  agency'  will 
guarantee  the  insertion  of  any  paragraph,  provided  it  is  not 
libellous,  in  no  less  than  four  hundred  newspapers.  The  art 
of  '  booming'  is  thus  easily  explained,  and  level-headed  people 
will  be  able  to  comprehend  why  it  is  that  a  few  names  of 
authors  are  constantly  mentioned  in  the  press,  while  others, 
perhaps  more  deserving,  remain  ignored.  Merit  counts  as 
nothing  in  such  circumstances, — money  wins  the  day.  And 
the  persistent  paragraphing  of  my  name,  together  with  a 
description  of  my  personal  appearance  and  my  *  marvellous 
literary  gifts,'  combined  with  a  deferential  and  almost  awe- 
struck allusion  to  the  '  millions'  which  made  me  so  interesting 
— (the  paragraph  was  written  out  by  Lucio  and  handed  for 
circulation  to  the  'agency'  aforesaid  with  'money  down') — 
all  this  I  say  brought  upon  me  two  inflictions, — first,  any 
amount  of  invitations  to  social  and  artistic  functions, — and 
secondly,  a  continuous  stream  of  begging-letters.  I  was  com- 
pelled to  employ  a  secretary,  who  occupied  a  room  near  my 
suite,  and  was  kept  hard  at  work  all  day.  Needless  to  say  I 
refused  all  appeals  for  money ; — no  one  had  helped  7ne  in  my 

*  A  fact. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  75 

distress,  with  the  exception  of  my  old  chum  '  Boffles,' — no  one 
save  he  had  given  me  even  so  much  as  a  word  of  sympathy, — 
I  was  resolved  now  to  be  as  hard  and  as  merciless  as  I  had 
found  my  contemporaries.  I  had  a  certain  grim  pleasure  in 
reading  letters  from  two  or  three  literary  men,  asking  for  work 
*as  secretary  or  companion,'  or  failing  that,  for  the  loan  of  a 
little  cash  to  '  tide  over  present  difficulties.'  One  of  these 
applicants  was  a  journalist  on  the  staff  of  a  well-known  paper 
who  had  promised  to  find  vie  work,  and  who  instead  of  doing 
so,  had  as  I  afterwards  learned,  strongly  dissuaded  his  editor 
from  giving  me  any  employment.  He  never  imagined  that 
Tempest  the  millionaire,  and  Tempest  the  literary  hack,  were 
one  and  the  same  person, — so  little  do  the  majority  think  that 
wealth  can  ever  fall  to  the  lot  of  authors  !  I  wrote  to  him 
myself  however,  and  told  him  what  I  deemed  it  well  he  should 
know,  adding  my  sarcastic  thanks  for  his  friendly  assistance 
to  m^  in  time  of  need, — and  herein  I  tasted  something  of  the 
sharp  delight  of  vengeance.  I  never  heard  from  him  again, 
and  I  am  pretty  sure  my  letter  gave  him  material  not  only  for 
astonishment  but  meditation. 

Yet  with  all  the  advantages  over  both  friends  and  enemies 
which  I  now  possessed,  I  could  not  honestly  say  I  was  happy. 
I  knew  I  could  have  every  possible  enjoyment  and  amuse- 
ment the  world  had  to  offer, — I  knew  I  was  one  of  the  most 
envied  among  men,  and  yet, — as  I  stood  looking  out  of  the 
window  at  the  persistently  falling  rain,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
bitterness  rather  than  a  sweetness  in  the  full  cup  of  fortune. 
Many  things  that  I  had  imagined  would  give  me  intense  satis- 
faction had  fallen  curiously  flat.  For  example,  I  had  flooded 
the  press  with  the  most  carefully  worded  and  prominent  adver- 
tisements of  my  forthcoming  book,  and  when  I  was  poor  I 
had  pictured  to  myself  how  I  should  revel  in  doing  this, — 
now  that  it  was  done  I  cared  nothing  at  all  about  it.  I 
was  simply  weary  of  the  sight  of  my  own  advertized  name. 
I  certainly  did  look  forward  with  very  genuine  feeling 
and    expectation  to  the  publication  of   my  work  when  that 


76  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

should  be  an  accomplished  fact, — but  to-day  even  that  idea 
had  lost  some  of  its  attractiveness  owing  to  this  new  and  un- 
pleasant impression  on  my  mind  that  the  contents  of  that  book 
were  as  utterly  the  reverse  of  my  own  true  thoughts  as  they 
could  well  be.  A  fog  began  to  darken  down  over  the  streets 
in  company  with  the  rain, — and  disgusted  with  the  weather 
and  with  myself,  I  turned  away  from  the  window  and  settled 
into  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  poking  the  coal  till  it  blazed, 
and  wondering  what  I  should  do  to  rid  my  mind  of  the 
gloom  that  threatened  to  envelop  it  in  as  thick  a  canopy  as 
that  of  the  London  fog.  A  tap  came  at  the  door,  and  in  an- 
swer to  my  somewhat  irritable  ''  Come  in  !"   Rimanez  entered. 

''What,  all  in  the  dark.  Tempest  !" — he  exclaimed  cheer- 
fully— "  Why  don't  you  light  up?" 

''The  fire's  enough" — I  answered  crossly — "Enough  at 
any  rate  to  think  by." 

"And  have  you  been  thinking?"  he  inquired  laughing — 
"  Don't  do  it.  It's  a  bad  habit.  No  one  thinks  now-a-days, 
— people  can't  stand  it, — their  heads  are  too  frail.  Once 
begin  to  think,  and  down  go  the  foundations  of  society, — 
besides  thinking  is  always  dull  work." 

"I  have  found  it  so,"  I  said  gloomily — "  Lucio,  there  is 
something  wrong  about  me  somewhere." 

His  eyes  flashed  keen,  half-amused  inquiry  into  mine. 

"  Wrong?  Oh  no,  surely  not?  What  can  there  be  wrong 
about  you,  Tempest?  Are  you  not  one  of  the  richest  men 
living?" 

I  let  the  satire  pass. 

"  Listen,  my  friend,"  I  said  earnestly — "  You  know  I  have 
been  busy  for  the  last  fortnight  correcting  the  proofs  of  my 
book  for  the  press, — do  you  not?" 

He  nodded  with  a  smiling  air. 

"  Well  I  have  arrived  almost  at  the  end  of  my  work  and  I 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  book  is  not  Me, — it  is 
not  a  reflex  of  my  feelings  at  all, — and  I  cannot  understand 
how  I  came  to  write  it." 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  77 

"You  find  it  stupid  perhaps?"  said  Lucio  sympathetically. 

*'  No,"  I  answered  with  a  touch  of  indignation — "  I  do  not 
find  it  stupid." 

"Dull  then?" 

"No,— it  is  not  dull." 

"  Melodramatic  ?" 

"No, — not  melodramatic." 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,  if  it  is  not  dull  or  stupid  or  melo- 
dramatic, what  is  it?"  he  exclaimed  merrily — "It  must  be 
something !" 

"Yes, — it  is  this, — it  is  beyond  me  altogether."  And  I 
spoke  with  some  bitterness.  "Quite  beyond  me.  I  could 
not  write  it  now, — I  wonder  I  could  wTite  it  then.  Lucio,  I 
daresay  I  am  talking  foolishly, — but  it  seems  to  me  I  must 
have  been  on  some  higher  altitude  of  thought  when  I  wrote 
the  book, — a  height  from  which  I  have  since  fallen." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  this,"  he  answered  with  twinkling  eyes 
— "  From  what  you  say  it  appears  to  me  you  have  been  guilty 
of  literary  sublimity.  Oh  bad,  very  bad  !  Nothing  can  be 
worse.  To  write  sublimely  is  a  grievous  sin,  and  one  which 
critics  never  forgive.  I'm  really  grieved  for  you,  my  friend 
— I  never  thought  your  case  was  quite  so  desperate. ' ' 
.  I  laughed  in  spite  of  my  depression. 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  Lucio  !"  I  said — "But  your  cheer- 
fulness is  very  inspiriting.  All  I  w^anted  to  explain  to  you  is 
this, — that  my  book  expresses  a  certain  tone  of  thought  which 
purporting  to  be  inine^  is  not  me, — in  short,  I  in  my  present 
self  have  no  sympathy  with  it.  I  must  have  changed  very 
much  since  I  wrote  it. ' ' 

"Changed?  Why  yes,  I  should  think  so!"  and  Lucio 
laughed  heartily — "The  possession  of  five  millions  is  bound 
to  change  a  man  considerably  for  the  better — or  worse  !  But 
you  seem  to  be  worrying  yourself  most  absurdly  about  nothing. 
Not  one  author  in  many  centuries  writes  from  his  own  heart 
or  as  he  truly  feels — when  he  does,  he  becomes  well-nigh 
immortal.     This  planet  is  too  limited  to  hold  more  than  one 

7* 


78  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

Homer,  one  Plato,  one  Shakespeare.  Don't  distress  yourself — 
you  are  neither  of  these  three  !  You  belong  to  the  age,  Tem- 
pest,— it  is  a  decadent  ephemeral  age,  and  most  things  con- 
nected with  it  are  decadent  and  ephemeral.  Any  era  that  is 
dominated  by  the  love  of  money  only,  has  a  rotten  core  within 
it  and  must  perish.  All  history  tells  us  so,  but  no  one  accepts 
the  lesson  of  history.  Observe  the  signs  of  the  time, — Art  is 
made  subservient  to  the  love  of  money — literature,  politics  and 
religion  the  same,— jw^  cannot  escape  from  the  general  disease. 
The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  make  the  best  of  it,- — no  one  can 
reform  it — least  of  all  you,  who  have  so  much  of  the  lucre 
given  to  your  share." 

He  paused, — I  was  silent,  watching  the  bright  fire-glow  and 
the  dropping  red  cinders. 

*' What  I  am  going  to  say  now,"  he  proceeded  in  soft,  al- 
most melancholy  accents — "will  sound  ridiculously  trite, — 
still  it  has  the  perverse  prosiness  of  truth  about  it.  It  is  this 
— in  order  to  write  with  intense  feelings,  you  must  first  feel. 
Very  likely  when  you  wrote  this  book  of  yours,  you  were  al- 
most a  human  hedge-hog  in  the  way  of  feeling.  Every  prickly 
point  of  you  was  erect  and  responsive  to  the  touch  of  all  influ- 
ences, pleasant  or  the  reverse,  imaginative  or  realistic.  This 
is  a  condition  which  some  people  envy,  and  others  would 
rather  dispense  with.  Now  that  you,  as  a  hedge-hog,  have  no 
further  need  for  either  alarm,  indignation  or  self-defence, 
your  prickles  are  soothed  into  an  agreeable  passiveness,  and 
you  partially  cease  to  feel.  That  is  all.  The  '  change'  you 
complain  of  is  thus  accounted  for ; — you  have  nothing  to  feel 
about, — hence  you  cannot  comprehend  how  it  was  that  you 
ever  felt. ' ' 

I  was  conscious  of  irritation  at  the  calm  conviction  of  his 
tone. 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  such  a  callous  creature  as  all  that?" 
I  exclaimed — "You  are  mistaken  in  me,  Lucio.  I  feel  most 
keenly " 

"What  do  you  feel?"  he  inquired,  fixing  his  eyes  steadily 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  79 

upon  me — ''There  are  hundreds  of  starving  wretches  in  this 
metropolis, — men  and  women  on  the  brink  of  suicide  because 
they  have  no  hope  of  anything  in  this  world  or  the  next,  and 
no  sympathy  from  their  kind — do  you  feel  for  them?  Do 
their  griefs  affect  you  ?  You  know  they  do  not, — you  know 
you  never  think  of  them, — why  should  you?  One  pf  the 
chief  advantages  of  wealth  is  the  ability  it  gives  us  to  shut  out 
other  people's  miseries  from  our  personal  consideration." 

I  said  nothing, — for  the  first  time  my  spirit  chafed  at  the 
truth  of  his  words,  principally  because  they  were  true.  Alas, 
Lucio  ! — if  I  had  only  known  then  what  I  know  now  ! 

"■  Yesterday,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  quiet  voice — ''  a  child 
was  run  over  here,  just  opposite  this  hotel.  It  was  only 
a  poor  child, — mark  that  'only.'  Its  mother  ran  shrieking 
out  of  some  back-street  hard  by,  in  time  to  see  the  little 
bleeding  body  carted  up  in  a  mangled  heap.  She  struck 
wildly  with  both  hands  at  the  men  who  were  trying  to  lead 
her  away,  and  with  a  cry  like  that  of  some  hurt  savage  animal 
fell  face  forward  in  the  mud — dead.  She  was  only  a  poor 
woman, — another  '  only.'  There  were  three  lines  in  the  paper 
about  it  headed  '  Sad  Incident. '  The  hotel  porter  here  wit- 
nessed the  scene  from  the  door  with  as  composed  a  demeanor  as 
that  of  a  fop  at  the  play,  never  relaxing  the  serene  majesty  of 
his  attitude, — but  about  ten  minutes  after  the  dead  body  of  the 
woman  had  been  carried  out  of  sight,  he,  the  imperial,  gold- 
buttoned  being,  became  almost  crook-backed  in  his  servile 
haste  to  run  and  open  the  door  of  your  brougham,  my  dear 
Geoffrey,  as.  you  drove  up  to  the  entrance.  This  is  a  little 
epitome  of  life  as  it  is  lived  now-a  days, — and  yet  the  canting 
clerics  swear  we  are  all  equal  in  the  sight  of  heaven  !  We 
may  be,  though  it  does  not  look  much  like  it, — and  if  we  are, 
it  does  not  matter,  as  we  have  ceased  to  care  how  heaven  re- 
gards us.  I  don't  want  to  point  a  moral, — I  simply  tell  you 
the  '  sad  incident'  as  it  occurred, — and  I  am  sure  you  are  not 
the  least  sorry  for  the  fate  of  either  the  child  who  was  run 
over,  or  its  mother  who  died  in  the  sharp  agony  of  a  suddenly 


8o  TPIE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

broken  heart.  Now  don't  say  you  are,  because  I  know  you're 
not!" 

"  How  can  one  feel  sorry  for  people  one  does  not  know  or 
has  never  seen — "  I  began. 

"  Exactly  ! — How  is  it  possible?  And  there  we  have  it — 
how  can  one  feel,  when  one's  self  is  so  thoroughly  comfort- 
able as  to  be  without  any  other  feeling  save  that  of  material 
ease  ?  Thus,  my  dear  Geoffrey,  you  must  be  content  to  let 
your  book  appear  as  the  reflex  and  record  of  your  past  when 
you  were  in  the  prickly  or  sensitive  stage, — now  you  are 
encased  in  a  pachydermatous  covering  of  gold  which  ade- 
quately protects  you  from  such  influences  as  might  have  made 
you  start  and  writhe,  perhaps  even  roar  with  indignation,  and 
in  the  access  of  fierce  torture,  stretch  out  your  hands  and  grasp 
— quite  unconsciously — the  winged  thing  called  Fame." 

''You  should  have  been  an  orator" — I  said,  rising  and 
pacing  the  room  to  and  fro  in  vexation, — ''But  to  me  your 
words  are  not  consoling,  and  I  do  not  think  they  are  true. 
Fame  is  easily  enough  secured." 

"  Pardon  me  if  I  am  obstinate  ;" — said  Lucio  with  a  depre- 
catory gesture — "  Notoriety  is  easily  secured — very  easily.  A 
few  critics  who  have  dined  with  you  and  had  their  fill  of  wine, 
will  give  you  notoriety.  But  fame  is  the  voice  of  the  whole 
civilized  public  of  the  world." 

"The  public!"  I  echoed  contemptuously — "The  public 
only  care  for  trash. ' ' 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  should  appeal  to  it  then" — he  responded 
with  a  smile — "  If  you  think  so  little  of  the  public  why  give 
it  anything  of  your  brain  ?  It  is  not  worthy  of  so  rare  a  boon ! 
Come,  come,  Tempest, — do  not  join  in  the  snarl  of  unsuccessful 
authors  who  take  refuge,  when  marked  unsalable,  in  pouring 
out  abuse  on  the  public.  The  public  is  the  author's  best  friend 
and  truest  critic.  But  if  you  prefer  to  despise  it  in  company 
with  all  the  very  little  literature-mongers  who  form  a  mutual 
admiration  society,  I  tell  you  what  to  do, — print  just  twenty 
copies  of  your  book  and  present  these  to  the  leading  review- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  8i 

ers,  and  when  they  have  written  you  up  (as  they  will  do — I'll 
take  care  of  that)  let  your  publisher  advertise  to  the  effect 
that  the  '  First  and  Second  Large  Editions'  of  the  new  novel 
by  Geoffrey  Tempest,  are  exhausted,  one  hundred  thousand 
copies  having  been  sold  in  a  week.  If  that  does  not  waken 
up  the  world  in  general,  I  shall  be  much  surprised." 

I  laughed, — I  was  gradually  getting  into  a  better  humour. 

*'  It  would  be  quite  as  fair  a  plan  of  action  as  is  adopted  by 
many  modern  publishers,"  I  said — ''The  loud  hawking  of  lit- 
erary wares  now-a-days  reminds  me  of  the  rival  shouting  of 
costermongers  in  a  low  neighbourhood.  But  I  will  not  go 
quite  so  far, — I'll  win  my  fame  legitimately  if  I  can." 

"You  can't!"  declared  Lucio  with  a  serene  smile — ''It's 
impossible.  You  are  too  rich.  That  of  itself  is  not  legitimate 
in  Literature, — which  great  art  generally  elects  to  wear  poverty 
in  its  button-hole  as  a  flower  of  grace.  The  fight  cannot  be 
equal  in  such  circumstances.  The  fact  that  you  are  a  million- 
aire must  weigh  the  balance  apparently  in  your  favour  for  a 
time.  The  world  cannot  resist  money.  If  I,  for  example, 
became  an  author,  I  should  probably  with  my  wealth  and  in- 
fluence, burn  up  every  one  else's  laurels.  Suppose  that  a  des- 
perately poor  man  comes  out  with  a  book  at  the  same  time  as 
you  do,  he  will  have  scarcely  the  ghost  of  a  chance  against 
you.  He  will  not  be  able  to  advertise  in  your  lavish  style, — 
nor  will  he  see  his  way  to  dine  the  critics  as  you  can.  And 
if  he  should  happen  to  have  more  genius  than  you,  and  you 
succeed,  your  success  will  no^  be  legitimate.  But  after  all, 
that  does  not  matter  much — in  Art,  if  in  nothing  else,  things 
always  right  themselves. ' ' 

I  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  went  over  to  my  table,  rolled 
up  my  corrected  proofs  and  directed  them  to  the  printers, — 
then  ringing  the  bell  I  gave  the  packet  to  my  man,  Morris, 
bidding  him  post  it  at  once.  This  done,  I  turned  again 
towards  Lucio  and  saw  that  he  still  sat  by  the  fire,  but  that  his 
attitude  was  now  one  of  brooding  melancholy,  and  that  he  had 
covered  his  eyes  with  one  hand  on  which  the  glow  from  the 
/ 


82  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

flames  shone  red.  I  regretted  the  momentary  irritation  I  had 
felt  against  him  for  telling  me  unwelcome  truths, — and  I 
touched  him  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

^'  Art  you  in  the  dumps  now,  Lucio?"  I  said — ''  I'm  afraid 
my  depression  has  proved  infectious." 

He  moved  his  hand  and  looked  up, — his  eyes  were  large  and 
lustrous  as  the  eyes  of  a  beautiful  woman. 

*'  I  was  thinking"  he  said,  with  a  slight  sigh — "  of  the  last 
words  I  uttered  just  now, — things  always  right  the?nselves. 
Curiously  enough  in  art  they  always  do, — no  charlatanism  or 
sham  lasts  with  the  gods  of  Parnassus.  But  in  other  matters 
it  is  different.  For  instance /shall  never  right  myself !  Life 
is  hateful  to  me  at  times,  as  it  is  to  everybody." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  in  love?"   I  said  with  a  smile. 

He  started  up. 

*'  In  love  !  By  all  the  heavens  and  all  the  earths  too,  that 
suggestion  wakes  me  with  a  vengeance  !  In  love  !  What 
woman  alive  do  you  think  could  impress  me  with  the  notion 
that  she  was  anything  more  than  a  frivolous  doll  of  pink  and 
white  with  long  hair  frequently  not  her  own  ?  And  as  for  the 
tom-boy  tennis-players  and  giantesses  of  the  era,  I  do  not 
consider  them  women  at  all, — they  are  merely  the  unnatural 
embryos  of  a  new  sex  which  will  be  neither  male  nor  female. 
My  dear  Tempest,  I  hate  women.  So  would  you  if  you  knew 
as  much  about  them  as  I  do.  They  have  made  me  what  I  am, 
and  they  keep  me  so. ' ' 

''  They  are  to  be  much  complimented  then," — I  observed — 
''  You  do  them  credit !" 

''I  do  !"  he  answered  slowly — "  In  more  ways  than  one  !" 
A  faint  smile  was  on  his  face,  and  his  eyes  brightened  with 
that  curious  jewel-like  gleam  I  had  noticed  several  times  be- 
fore. ^'^  Believe  me  I  shall  never  contest  with  you  such  a 
slight  gift  as  woman's  love,  Geoffrey.  It  is  not  worth  fight- 
ing for.  And  apropos  of  women,  that  reminds  me, — I  have 
promised  to  take  you  to  the  Earl  of  Elton's  box  at  the  Hay- 
market  to-night, — he  is  a  poor  peer,  very  gouty  and  somewhat 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  83 

heavily  flavoured  with  port-wine,  but  his  daughter,  Lady  Sibyl, 
is  one  of  the  belles  of  England.  She  was  presented  last  season 
and  created  quite  ^fufore.     Will  you  come?" 

"I  am  quite  at  your  disposition" — I  said,  glad  of  any  ex- 
cuse to  escape  the  dullness  of  my  own  company  and  to  be  in 
that  of  Lucio,  whose  talk,  even  if  its  satire  galled  me  occa- 
sionally, always  fascinated  my  mind  and  remained  in  my 
memory — ''  What  time  shall  we  meet  ?" 

^'  Go  and  dress  now,  and  join  me  at  dinner" — he  answered ; 
"And  we'll  drive  together  to  the  theatre  afterwards.  The 
play  is  on  the  usual  theme  which  has  lately  become  popular 
with  stage-managers, — the  glorification  of  a  '  fallen'  lady, 
and  the  exhibition  of  her  as  an  example  of  something  super- 
latively pure  and  good,  to  the  astonished  eyes  of  the  inno- 
cent. As  a  play  it  is  not  worth  seeing, — but  perhaps  Lady 
Sibyl  is." 

He  smiled  again  as  he  stood  facing  me, — the  light  flames  of 
the  fire  had  died  down  to  a  dull  uniform  coppery  red, — we 
were  almost  in  darkness,  and  I  pressed  the  small  button  near 
the  mantelpiece  that  flooded  the  room  with  electric  light. 
His  extraordinary  beauty  then  struck  me  afresh  as  something 
altogether  singular  and  half  unearthly. 

"  Don't  you  find  that  people  look  at  you  very  often  as  you 
pass,  Lucio?"  I  asked  him  suddenly  and  impulsively. 

He  laughed.  *' Not  at  all.  Why  should  they?  Every 
man  is  so  intent  on  his  own  aims,  and  thinks  so  much  of  his 
own  personality  that  he  would  scarcely  forget  his  ego  if  the 
very  devil  himself  were  behind  him.  Women  look  at  me 
sometimes,  with  the  affected  coy  and  kitten-like  interest 
usually  exhibited  by  the  frail  sex  for  a  personable  man." 

''  I  cannot  blame  them  !"  I  answered,  my  gaze  still  resting 
on  his  stately  figure  and  fine  head  with  as  much  admiration 
as  I  might  have  felt  for  a  noble  picture  or  statue — "  What  of 
this  Lady  Sibyl  we  are  to  meet  to-night, — how  does  she 
regard  you  ?' ' 

''Lady  Sibyl  has  never  seen  me" — he  replied — ''And  I 


84  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

have  only  seen  her  at  a  distance.  It  is  chiefly  for  the  purpose 
of  an  introduction  to  her  that  the  Earl  has  asked  us  to  his  box 
this  evening." 

*'  Ha  ha  !     Matrimony  in  view  !"  I  exclaimed  jestingly. 

^'  Yes — I  believe  Lady  Sibyl  is  for  sale' ' — he  answered  with 
the  callous  coldness  that  occasionally  distinguished  him  and 
made  his  handsome  features  look  like  an  impenetrable  mask  of 
scorn — ''But  up  to  the  present  the  bids  have  not  been  suffi- 
ciently high.  And  I  shall  not  purchase.  I  have  told  you 
already,  Tempest,  I  hate  women." 

"  Seriously?" 

'' Most  seriously.  Women  have  always  done  me  harm, — 
they  have  wantonly  hindered  me  in  my  progress.  And  why 
I  specially  abominate  them  is,  that  they  have  been  gifted  with 
an  enormous  power  for  doing  good,  and  that  they  let  this 
power  run  to  waste  and  will  not  use  it.  Their  deliberate  en- 
joyment and  choice  of  the  repulsive,  vulgar  and  common- 
place side  of  life  disgusts  me.  They  are  much  less  sensitive 
than  men,  and  infinitely  more  heartless.  They  are  the  mothers 
of  the  human  race,  and  the  faults  of  the  race  are  chiefly  due 
to  them.     That  is  another  reason  for  my  hatred." 

''Do  you  want  the  human  race  to  be  perfect?"  I  asked 
astonished — "  Because,  if  you  do,  you  will  find  that  impos- 
sible." 

He  stood  for  a  moment  apparently  lost  in  thought. 

"  Everything  in  the  Universe  is  perfect" — he  said,  "  except 
that  curious  piece  of  work — Man.  Have  you  never  thought 
out  any  reasons  why  he  should  be  the  one  flaw, — the  one  in- 
complete creature  in  a  matchless  Creation  ?' ' 

"No,  I  have  not" — I  replied — "I  take  things  as  I  find 
them. ' ' 

"  So  do  I"— and  he  turned  away,  "And  as  I  find  f/iem,  so 
they  find  me/  Au  revoir !  Dinner  in  an  hour's  time  re- 
member !" 

The  door  opened  and  closed — he  was  gone.  I  remained 
alone  for  a  little,  thinking  what  a  strange  disposition  was  his, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  85 

— what  a  curious  mixture  of  philosophy,  worldliness,  senti- 
ment and  satire  seemed  to  run  like  the  veins  of  a  leaf  through 
the  variable  temperament  of  this  brilliant,  semi-mysterious 
personage  who  had  by  mere  chance  become  my  greatest  friend. 
We  had  now  been  more  or  less  together  for  nearly  a  month, 
and  I  was  no  closer  to  the  secret  of  his  actual  nature  than  I 
had  been  at  first.  Yet  I  admired  him  more  than  ever, — with- 
out his  society  I  felt  life  would  be  deprived  of  half  its  charm. 
For  though,  attracted  as  human  moths  will  be  by  the  glare  of 
my  glittering  millions,  numbers  of  so-called  '  friends'  now 
surrounded  me,  there  was  not  one  among  them  who  so  domi- 
nated my  every  mood  and  with  whom  I  had  so  much  close 
sympathy  as  this  man, — this  masterful,  half  cruel,  half  kind 
companion  of  my  days,  who  at  times  seemed  to  accept  all  life 
as  the  veriest  bagatelle,  and  myself  as  a  part  of  the  trivial 
game. 

VIII 

No  man,  I  think,  ever  forgets  the  first  time  he  is  brought  face 
to  face  with  perfect  beauty  in  woman.  He  may  have  caught 
fleeting  glimpses  of  loveliness  on  many  fair  faces  often, — bright 
eyes  may  have  flashed  on  him  like  star-beams, — the  hues  of  a 
dazzling  complexion  may  now  and  then  have  charmed  him, 
or  the  seductive  outlines  of  a  graceful  figure  ; — all  these  are  as 
mere  peeps  into  the  infinite.  But  when  such  vague  and  passing 
impressions  are  suddenly  drawn  together  in  one  focus, — when 
all  his  dreamy  fancies  of  form  and  colour  take  visible  and  com- 
plete manifestation  in  one  living  creature  who  looks  down 
upon  him  as  it  were  from  an  empyrean  of  untouched  maiden 
pride  and  purity,  it  is  more  to  his  honour  than  his  shame,  if 
his  senses  swoon  at  the  ravishing  vision,  and  he,  despite  his 
rough  masculinity  and  brute  strength,  becomes  nothing  but 
the  merest  slave  to  passion.  In  this  way  was  I  overwhelmed 
and  conquered  without  any  chance  of  deliverance  when  Sybil 
Elton's  violet  eyes,   lifted  slowly  from  the  shadow  of   their 

8 


86  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

dark  lashes,  rested  upon  me  with  that  indefinable  expres- 
sion of  mingled  interest  and  indifference  which  is  supposed 
to  indicate  high  breeding,  but  which  more  frequently  intim- 
idates and  repulses  the  frank  and  sensitive  soul.  The  Lady 
Sibyl's  glance  repelled,  but  I  was  none  the  less  attracted. 
Rimanez  and  I  had  entered  the  Earl  of  Elton's  box  at  the 
Haymarket  between  the  first  and  second  acts  of  the  play, 
and  the  Earl  himself,  an  unimpressive,  bald-headed,  red- 
faced  old  gentleman,  with  fuzzy  white  whiskers,  had  risen 
to  welcome  us,  seizing  Lucio's  hand  and  shaking  it  with 
particular  effusiveness.  (I  learned  afterwards  that  Lucio  had 
lent  him  a  thousand  pounds  on  easy  terms,  a  fact  which 
partly  accounted  for  the  friendly  fervour  of  his  greeting.) 
His-  daughter  had  not  moved ;  but  a  minute  or  two  later 
when  he  addressed  her  somewhat  sharply,  saying  "  Sibyl ! 
Prince  Rimanez  and  his  friend,  Mr  Geoffrey  Tempest,"  she 
turned  her  head  and  honoured  us  both  with  the  chill  glance 
I  have  endeavoured  to  describe,  and  the  very  faintest  possible 
bow  as  an  acknowledgment  of  our  presence.  Her  exquisite 
beauty  smote  me  dumb  and  foolish, — I  could  find  nothing  to 
say,  and  stood  silent  and  confused,  with  a  strange  sensation  of 
bewilderment  upon  me.  The  old  Earl  made  some  remark 
about  the  play  which  I  scarcely  heard  though  I  answered 
vaguely  and  at  hap-hazard, — the  orchestra  was  playing  abomi- 
nably as  is  usual  in  theatres,  and  its  brazen  din  sounded  like 
the  noise  of  the  sea  in  my  ears, — I  had  not  much  real  con- 
sciousness of  anything  save  the  wondrous  loveliness  of  the 
girl  who  faced  me,  clad  in  pure  white,  with  a  few  diamonds 
shining  about  her  like  stray  dewdrops  on  a  rose.  Lucio  spoke 
to  her,  and  I  listened. 

''At  last.  Lady  Sibyl,"  he  said,  bending  towards  her  defer- 
entially. '^At  last  I  have  the  honour  of  meeting  you.  I 
have  seen  you  often,  as  one  sees  a  star, — at  a  distance." 

She  smiled, — a  smile  so  slight  and  cold  that  it  scarcely 
lifted  the  corners  of  her  lovely  lips. 

**  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  you, ' '  she  replied.     ^'  And 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  87 

yet  there  is  something  oddly  familiar  in  your  face.  I  have 
heard  my  father  speak  of  you  constantly, — I  need  scarcely 
say  his  friends  are  always  mine." 

He  bowed. 

''  To  merely  speak  to  Lady  Sibyl  Elton  is  counted  sufficient 
to  make  the  man  so  privileged  happy,"  he  said.  ''  To  be  her 
friend  is  to  discover  the  lost  paradise. ' ' 

She  flushed, — then  grew  suddenly  very  pale,  and  shivering, 
she  drew  her  cloak  towards  her.  Rimanez  wrapped  its  per- 
fumed silken  folds  carefully  round  her  beautiful  shoulders, — 
how  I  grudged  him  the  dainty  task  !  He  then  turned  to  me, 
and  placed  a  chair  just  behind  hers. 

^*  Will  you  sit  here,  Geoffrey?"  he  suggested — "I  want  to 
have  a  moment's  business  chat  with  Lord  Elton." 

Recovering  my  self-possession  a  little,  I  hastened  to  take 
the  chance  he  thus  generously  gave  me  to  ingratiate  myself  in 
the  young  lady's  favour,  and  my  heart  gave  a  foolish  bound 
of  joy  because  she  smiled  encouragingly  as  I  approached 
her. 

*' You  are  a  great  friend  of  Prince  Rimanez?"  she  asked 
softly,  as  I  sat  down. 

"Yes,  we  are  very  intimate,"  I  replied — "  He  is  a  delight- 
ful companion." 

"  So  I  should  imagine  !"  and  she  looked  over  at  him  where 
he  sat  next  to  her  father  talking  earnestly  in  low  tones — "  He 
is  singularly  handsome." 

I  made  no  reply.  Of  course  Lucio's  extraordinary  personal 
attractiveness  was  undeniable, — but  I  rather  grudged  her 
praise  bestowed  on  him  just  then.  Her  remarks  seemed  to 
me  as  tactless  as  when  a  man  with  one  pretty  woman  beside 
him  loudly  admires  another  in  her  hearing.  I  did  not  myself 
assume  to  be  actually  handsome,  but  I  knew  I  was  better 
looking  than  the  ordinary  run  of  men.  So  out  of  sudden 
pique  I  remained  silent,  and  presently  the  curtain  rose  and 
the  play  was  resumed.  A  very  questionable  scene  was  enacted, 
the  '  woman  with  the  past'  being  well  to  the  front  of  it.     I  felt 


88  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

disgusted  at  the  performance  and  looked  at  my  companions  to 
see  if  they  too  were  similarly  moved.  There  was  no  sign  of 
disapproval  on  Lady  Sibyl's  fair  countenance, — her  father  was 
bending  forward  eagerly,  apparently  gloating  over  every  detail, 
— Rimanez  wore  that  inscrutable  expression  of  his  in  which 
no  feeling  whatever  could  be  discerned.  The  '  Avoman  with 
the  past'  went  on  with  her  hysterical  sham-heroics,  and  the 
mealy-mouthed  fool  of  a  hero  declared  her  to  be  a  '  pure 
angel  wronged,'  and  the  curtain  fell  amid  loud  applause.  One 
energetic  hiss  came  from  the  gallery,  affecting  the  occupants 
of  the  stalls  to  scandalized  amazement. 

''England  has  progressed!"  said  Rimanez  in  soft  half- 
bantering  tones — "Once  upon  a  time  this  play  would  have 
been  hooted  off  the  stage  as  likely  to  corrupt  the  social  com- 
munity. But  now  the  only  voice  of  protest  comes  from  the 
'  lower'  classes. ' ' 

'*  Are  you  a  democrat,  prince  ?"  inquired  Lady  Sibyl,  waving 
her  fan  indolently  to  and  fro. 

''Not  I !  I  always  insist  on  the  pride  and  supremacy  of 
worth, — I  do  not  mean  money  value,  but  intellect.  And  in 
this  way  I  foresee  a  new  aristocracy.  When  the  High  grows 
corrupt,  it  falls  and  becomes  the  Low; — when  the  Low  edu- 
cates itself  and  aspires,  it  becomes  the  High.  This  is  simply 
the  course  of  nature." 

'*But  God  bless  my  soul !"  exclaimed  Lord  Elton — "you 
don't  call  this  play  low  or  immoral,  do  you  ?"  It's  a  realistic 
study  of  modern  social  life — that's  what  it  is.  These  women 
you  know, — these  poor  souls  v/ith  a  past — are  very  in- 
teresting." 

"  Very  !"  murmured  his  daughter. — "  In  fact  it  would  seem 
that  for  women  with  no  such  '  past'  there  can  be  no  future. 
Virtue  and  modesty  are  quite  out  of  date,  and  have  no  chance 
whatever. ' ' 

I  leaned  towards  her,  half  whispering — 

"  Lady  Sibyl,  I  am  glad  to  see  this  wretched  play  oifends 
you. ' ' 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  89 

She  turned  her  deep  eyes  on  me  in  mingled  surprise  and 
amusement. 

"  Oh  no,  it  doesn't,"  she  declared — '*  I  have  seen  so  many- 
like  it.  And  I  have  read  so  many  novels  on  just  the  same 
theme.  I  assure  you  I  am  quite  convinced  that  the  so-called 
'  bad'  woman  is  the  only  popular  type  of  our  sex  with  men, 
— she  gets  all  the  enjoyment  possible  out  of  life, — she  fre- 
quently makes  an  excellent  marriage,  and  has,  as  the  Amer- 
icans say,  'a.  good  time  all  round.'  It's  the  same  thing  with 
our  convicted  criminals, — in  prison  they  are  much  better 
fed  than  the  honest  working-man.  I  believe  it  is  quite  a 
mistake  for  a  woman  to  be  respectable, — they  are  only  con- 
sidered dull." 

''Ah  now  you  are  only  joking  !"  I  said  with  an  indulgent 
smile.  "  You  know  that  in  your  heart  you  think  very  differ- 
ently." 

She  made  no  answer,  as  just  then  the  curtain  went  up  again, 
disclosing  the  unclean  '  lady'  of  the  piece,  ''  having  a  good  time 
all  round"  on  board  a  luxurious  yacht.  During  the  unnatural 
and  stilted  dialogue  which  followed,  I  withdrew  a  little  back 
into  the  shadow  of  the  box,  and  all  that  self-esteem  and  as- 
surance of  which  I  had  been  suddenly  deprived  by  a  glance 
at  Lady  Sibyl's  beauty,  came  back  to  me,  and  a  perfectly 
stolid  coolness  and  composure  succeeded  to  the  first  feverish 
excitement  of  my  mind.  I  recalled  Lucio's  words — '^  I  be- 
lieve Lady  Sibyl  is  for  sale"" — and  I  thought  triumphantly  of 
my  millions.  I  glanced  at  the  old  earl,  abjectly  pulling  at 
his  white  whiskers  while  he  listened  anxiously  to  what  were 
evidently  money  schemes  propounded  by  Lucio.  Then  my 
gaze  came  back  appraisingly  to  the  lovely  curves  of  Lady 
Sibyl's  milk-white  throat,  her  beautiful  arms  and  bosom,  her 
rich  brown  hair  of  the  shade  of  a  ripe  chestnut,  her  delicate 
haughty  face,  languid  eyes  and  brilliant  complexion, — and  I 
murmured  inwardly — ''  All  this  loveliness  is  purchasable  and 
I  will  purchase  it  !"  At  that  very  instant  she  turned  to  me 
and  said — 

8* 


90  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

''You  are  the  famous  Mr  Tempest,  are  you  not?" 

''Famous?"  I  echoed  with  a  deep  sense  of  gratification 
— "Well, — I  am  scarcely  that, — yet !  My  book  is  not  pub- 
lished ..." 

Her  eyebrows  arched  themselves  surprisedly. 

"  Your  book?     I  did  not  know  you  had  written  one  !" 

My  flattered  vanity  sank  to  zero. 

"  It  has  been  extensively  advertised,"  I  began  impressively, 

but  she  interrupted  me  with  a  laugh. 

"Oh  I  never  read  advertisements, — it's  too  much  trouble. 
When  I  asked  if  you  were  the  famous  Mr  Tempest,  I  meant  to 
say  were  you  the  great  millionaire  who  has  been  so  much  talked 
of  lately?" 

I  bowed  a  somewhat  chill  assent.  She  looked  at  me  in- 
quisitively over  the  lace  edge  of  her  fan. 

"How  delightful  it  must  be  for  you  to  have  so  much 
money!"  she  said — "And  you  are  young  too,  and  good- 
looking." 

Pleasure  took  the  place  of  vexed  amour-propre  and  I 
smiled. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Lady  Sibyl !" 

"Why?"  she  asked  laughing, — such  a  delicious  little  low 
laugh — "Because  I  tell  you  the  truth?  You  ^;r  young  and 
you  are  good-looking.  Millionaires  are  generally  such  appal- 
ling creatures.  Fortune  while  giving  them  money  frequently 
deprives  them  of  both  brains  and  personal  attractiveness.  And 
now  do  tell  me  about  your  book  !" 

She  seemed  to  have  suddenly  dispensed  with  her  former 
reserve,  and  during  the  last  act  of  the  play,  we  conversed 
freely,  in  whispers  which  assisted  us  to  become  almost  con- 
fidential. Her  manner  to  ine  now  was  full  of  grace  and 
charm,  and  the  fascination  she  exerted  over  my  senses  became 
complete.  The  performance  over,  we  all  left  the  box  together, 
and  as  Lucio  was  still  apparently  engrossed  with  Lord  Elton, 
I  had  the  satisfaction  of  escorting  Lady  Sibyl  to  her  carriage. 
When  her  father  joined  her,  Lucio  and  I  both  stood  together 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  91 

looking  in  at  the  window  of  the  brougham,  and  the  Earl, 
getting  hold  of  my  hand  shook  it  up  and  down  with  boisterous 
friendliness. 

"Come  and  dine, — come  and  dine !"  he  spluttered  excitedly, 
— "  Come — let  me  see, — this  is  Tuesday — come  on  Thursday. 
Short  notice  and  no  ceremony  !  My  wife  is  paralyzed  I'm 
sorry  to  say, — she  can't  receive, — she  can  only  see  a  few 
people  now  and  then  when  she  is  in  the  humour, — her  sister 
keeps  house  and  does  the  honours, — Aunt  Charlotte,  eh 
Sibyl? — ha-ha-ha  !  The  Deceased  Wife's  Sister's  Bill  would 
never  be  any  use  to  me,  for  if  my  wife  were  to  die  I  shouldn't 
be  anxious  to  marry  Miss  Charlotte  Fitzroy  !  Ha  ha  ha  !  A 
perfectly  unapproachable  woman,  sir  ! — a  model, — ha  ha  ! 
Come  and  dine  with  us,  Mr  Tempest, — Lucio,  you  bring  him 
along  with  you,  eh?  We've  got  a  young  lady  staying  with 
us, — an  American,  dollars,  accent  and  all, — and  by  Jove  I  be- 
lieve she  wants  to  marry  me,  ha  ha  ha  !  and  is  waiting  for  Lady 
Elton  to  go  to  a  better  world  first,  ha  ha  !  Come  along — come 
and  see  the  little  American,  eh  ?     Thursday  shall  it  be  ?' ' 

Over  the  fair  features  of  Lady  Sibyl  there  passed  a  faint 
shadow  of  annoyance  at  her  father's  allusion  to  the  ''little 
American,"  but  she  said  nothing.  Only  her  looks  appeared 
to  question  our  intentions  as  well  as  to  persuade  our  wills, 
and  she  seemed  satisfied  when  we  both  accepted  the  invita- 
tion given.  Another  apoplectic  chuckle  from  the  Earl  and  a 
couple  of  handshakes, — a  slight  graceful  bow  from  her  lovely 
ladyship,  as  we  raised  our  hats  in  farewell,  and  the  Elton 
equipage  rolled  away,  leaving  us  to  enter  our  own  vehicle, 
which  amid  the  officious  roarings  of  street-boys  and  police- 
men had  just  managed  to  draw  up  in  front  of  the  theatre.  As 
we  drove  off,  Lucio  peered  inquisitively  at  me — I  could  see 
the  steely  glitter  of  his  fine  eyes  in  the  semi-darkness  of  the 
brougham, — and  said — 

"Well?" 

I  was  silent. 

"Don't  you  admire  her?"  he  went  on — "I  must  confess 


92 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


she  is  cold, — a  very  chilly  vestal  indeed, — but  snow  often 
covers  volcanoes !  She  has  good  features  and  a  naturally 
clear  complexion." 

Despite  my  intention  to  be  reticent,  I  could  not  endure  this 
tame  description. 

''  She  is  perfectly  beautiful," — I  said  emphatically.  ''  The 
dullest  eyes  must  see  that.  There  is  not  a  fault  to  be  found 
with  her.  And  she  is  wise  to  be  reserved  and  cold — were 
she  too  lavish  of  her  smiles,  and  too  seductive  in  manner  she 
might  drive  many  men  not  only  into  folly,  but  madness." 

I  felt  rather  than  saw  the  cat-like  jewel  glance  he  flashed 
upon  me. 

''Positively,  Geoffrey,  I  believe,  that  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  we  are  only  in  February,  the  wind  blows  upon  you 
due  south,  bringing  with  it  odours  of  rose  and  orange-blossom  ! 
I  fancy  Lady  Sibyl  has  powerfully  impressed  you?" 

^'  Did  you  wish  me  to  be  impressed?"  I  asked. 

*'I?  My  dear  fellow,  I  wish  nothing  that  you  yourself  do 
not  wish.  I  accommodate  my  ways  to  my  friends'  humours. 
If  asked  for  my  opinion,  I  should  say  it  is  rather  a  pity  if 
you  are  really  smitten  with  the  young  lady,  as  there  are  no 
obstacles  to  be  encountered.  A  love-affair,  to  be  conducted 
with  spirit  and  enterprise  should  always  bristle  with  opposi- 
tion and  difficulty,  real  or  invented.  A  little  secrecy  and  a 
good  deal  of  wrong-doing,  such  as  sly  assignations  and  the 
telling  of  any  amount  of  lies — such  things  add  to  the  agree- 
ableness  of  love-making  on  this  planet — " 

I  interrupted  him. 

''See  here,  Lucio,  you  are  very  fond  of  alluding  to  'this' 
planet  as  if  you  knew  anything  about  other  planets" — I  said 
impatiently.  ^^This  planet,  as  you  somewhat  contemptuously 
call  it,  is  the  only  one  we  have  any  business  with." 

He  bent  his  piercing  looks  so  ardently  upon  me  that  for  the 
moment  I  was  startled. 

"If  that  is  so,"  he  answered,  "why  in  Heaven's  name  do 
you  not  let  the  other  planets  alone  ?     Why  do  you  strive  to 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  93 

fathom  their  mysteries  and  movements  ?  If  men,  as  you  say, 
have  no  business  with  any  planet  save  this  one,  why  are  they 
ever  on  the  alert  to  discover  the  secret  of  mightier  worlds, — a 
secret  which  haply  it  may  some  day  terrify  them  to  know  !" 

The  solemnity  of  his  voice  and  the  inspired  expression  of 
his  face  awed  me.     I  had  no  reply  ready,  and  he  went  on — 

"  Do  not  let  us  talk,  my  friend,  of  planets,  not  even  of  this 
particular  pin's  point  among  them  known  as  Earth.  Let  us 
return  to  a  better  subject — the  Lady  Sibyl.  As  I  have  already 
said,  there  are  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  your  wooing  and 
winning  her,  if  such  is  your  desire.  Geoffrey  Tempest,  as 
mere  author  of  books  would  indeed  be  insolent  to  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  an  earl's  daughter,  but  Geoffrey  Tempest,  million- 
aire, will  be  a  welcome  suitor.  Poor  Lord  Elton's  affairs  are 
in  a  bad  way — he  is  almost  out-at-elbows,  the  American  woman 
who  is  boarding  with  him " 

**  Boarding  with  him  !"  I  exclaimed — *'  Surely  he  does  not 
keep  a  boarding-house  ?' ' 

Lucio  laughed  heartily. 

^'No,  no  ! — you  must  not  put  it  so  coarsely,  Geoffrey.  It 
is  simply  this,  that  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Elton  give  the 
prestige  of  their  home  and  protection  to  Miss  Diana  Chesney 
(the  American  aforesaid)  for  the  trifling  sum  of  two  thousand 
guineas  per  annum.  The  Countess  being  paralyzed,  is 
obliged  to  hand  over  her  duties  of  chaperonage  to  her  sister 
Miss  Charlotte  Fitzroy, — but  the  halo  of  the  coronet  still 
hovers  over  Miss  Chesney' s  brow.  She  has  her  own  suite  of 
rooms  in  the  house,  and  goes  wherever  it  is  proper  for  her  to 
go,  under  Miss  Fitzroy' s  care.  Lady  Sibyl  does  not  like  the 
arrangement,  and  is  therefore  never  seen  anywhere  except  with 
her  father.  She  will  not  join  in  companionship  with  Miss 
Chesney  and  has  said  so  pretty  plainly." 

''I  admire  her  for  it  !"  I  said  warmly — ^'  I  really  am  sur- 
prised that  Lord  Elton  should  condescend " 

''  Condescend  to  what?"  inquired  Lucio — ''  Condescend  to 
take   two  thousand    guineas  a   year?      Good    heavens   man. 


94  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

there  are  no  end  of  lords  and  ladies  who  will  readily  agree 
to  perform  such  an  act  of  condescension.  '  Blue'  blood  is 
getting  thin  and  poor,  and  only  money  can  thicken  it. 
Diana  Chesney  is  worth  over  a  million  dollars  and  if  Lady 
Elton  were  to  die  conveniently  soon,  I  should  not  be  surprised 
to  see  that  '  little  American'  step  triumphantly  into  her  vacant 
place." 

'*  What  a  state  of  topsy-turveydom  !"  I  said  half  angrily. 

''  Geoffrey,  my  friend,  you  are  really  amazingly  inconsistent ! 
Is  there  a  more  flagrant  example  of  topsy-turveydom  than 
yourself  for  instance  ?  Six  weeks  ago,  what  were  you  ?  A 
mere  scribbler,  with  flutterings  of  the  wings  of  genius  in  your 
soul  but  many  uncertainties  as  to  whether  those  wings  would 
ever  be  strong  enough  to  lift  you  out  of  the  rut  of  obscurity 
in  which  you  floundered,  struggling  and  grumbling  at  adverse 
fate.  Now,  as  millionaire,  you  think  contemptuously  of  an 
Earl,  because  he  ventures  quite  legitimately  to  add  a  little  to 
his  income  by  boarding  an  American  heiress  and  launching 
her  into  society  where  she  would  never  get  without  him. 
And  you  aspire,  or  probably  mean  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of 
the  Earl's  daughter,  as  if  you  yourself  were  a  descendant  of 
kings.  Nothing  can  be  more  topsy-turvey  than  your  con- 
dition?" 

*'  My  father  was  a  gentleman,"  I  said  with  a  touch  of  hau- 
teur, ''  and  a  descendant  of  gentlemen.  We  were  never  com- 
mon folk, — our  family  was  one  of  the  most  highly  esteemed 
in  the  counties." 

Lucio  smiled. 

*'  I  do  not  doubt  it,  my  dear  fellow, — I  do  not  in  the  least 
doubt  it.  But  a  simple  '  gentleman'  is  a  long  way  below — or 
above — an  Earl.  Have  it  which  side  you  choose  ! — because  it 
really  doesn't  matter  now-a-days.  We  have  come  to  a  period 
of  history  when  rank  and  lineage  count  as  nothing  at  all,  owing 
to  the  profoundly  obtuse  stupidity  of  those  who  happen  to  pos- 
sess it.  So  it  chances,  that  as  no  resistance  is  made,  brewers 
are  created  peers  of  the  realm,  and  ordinary  tradesmen  are 


THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN  95 

knighted,  and  the  very  old  families  are  so  poor  that  they  have 
to  sell  their  estates  and  jewels  to  the  highest  bidder,  who  is 
frequently  a  vulgar  '  railway-king'  or  the  introducer  of  some 
new  manure.  You  occupy  a  better  position  than  such,  since 
you  inherit  your  money  with  the  further  satisfaction  that  you 
do  not  know  how  it  was  made." 

"True!"  I  answered  meditatively, — then,  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  recollection  I  added — '^  By  the  way  I  never  told  you 
that  my  deceased  relative  imagined  that  he  had  sold  his  soul 
to  the  devil,  and  that  this  vast  fortune  of  his  was  the  material 
result ! ' ' 

Lucio  burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter. 

*'  No  !  Not  possible  !"  he  exclaimed  derisively — "  What  an 
idea  !  I  suppose  he  had  a  screw  loose  somewhere  !  Imagine 
any  sane  man  believing  in  a  devil  !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  And  in 
these  advanced  days  too  !  Well,  well !  The  folly  of  human 
imaginations  will  never  end  !  Here  we  are  !" — and  he  sprang 
lightly  out  as  the  brougham  stopped  at  the  Grand  Hotel — 
*'Iwill  say  good-night  to  you,  Tempest.  I've  promised  to 
go  and  have  a  gamble." 

*' A  gamble?  where?" 

*' At  one  of  the  select  private  clubs.  There  are  any  amount 
of  them  in  this  eminently  moral  metropolis — no  occasion  to  go 
to  Monte  Carlo  !     Will  you  come  ?"  ^ 

I  hesitated.  The  fair  face  of  Lady  Sibyl  haunted  my  mind, 
and  I  felt,  with  a  no  doubt  foolish  sentimentality,  that  I  would 
rather  keep  my  thoughts  of  her  sacred,  and  unpolluted  by  con- 
tact with  things  of  low^er  tone. 

"Not  to-night" — I  said, — then  half  smiling  I  added — "It 
must  be  rather  a  one-sided  affair  for  other  men  to  gamble 
with  you,  Lucio  !  You  can  afford  to  lose, — and  perhaps  they 
can't." 

* '  If  they  can' t  they  shouldn'  t  play' '  — he  answered — "  A  man 
should  at  least  know  his  own  mind  and  his  own  capacity ;  if 
he  doesn't  he  is  no  man  at  all.  As  far  as  I  have  learned  by 
long  experience,  those  who  gamble,  like  it,  and  when  ^/ley  like 


96  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

it  /like  it.  I'll  take  you  with  me  to-morrow  if  you  care  to 
see  the  fun, — one  or  two  very  emiment  men  are  members  of 
the  club,  though  of  course  they  wouldn't  have  it  known  for 
worlds.     You  shan't  lose  much — I'll  see  to  that." 

**  All  right, — to-morrow  it  shall  be!" — I  responded,  fori 
did  not  wish  to  appear  as  though  I  grudged  losing  a  few 
pounds  at  play — '*  But  to-night  I  think  I'll  write  some  letters 
before  going  to  bed." 

''Yes — and  dream  of  Lady  Sibyl !"  said  Lucio  laughing — 
'*If  she  fascinates  you  as  much  when  you  see  her  again  on 
Thursday  you  had  better  begin  the  siege  !" 

He  waved  his  hand  gaily,  and  re-entering  his  carriage,  was 
driven  off  at  a  furious  pace  through  the  drifting  fog  and  rain. 


IX 

My  publisher,  John  Morgeson — the  estimable  individual 
who  had  first  refused  my  book,  and  who  now,  moved  by  self- 
interest,  was  devoting  his  energies  assiduously  to  the  business 
of  launching  it  in  the  most  modern  and  approved  style,  was 
not  like  Shakespeare's  C^j-j-/^,  strictly  *  an  honourable  man.' 
Neither  was  he  the  respectable  chief  of  a  long-established  firm 
whose  system  of  the  cheating  of  authors,  mellowed  by  time, 
had  become  almost  sacred  ; — he  was  a  '  new'  man,  with  new 
ways,  and  a  good  stock  of  new  push  and  impudence.  All  the 
same,  he  was  clever,  shrewd  and  diplomatic,  and  for  some 
reason  or  other,  had  secured  the  favour  of  a  certain  portion  of 
the  press,  many  of  the  dailies  and  weeklies  always  giving  spe- 
cial prominence  to  his  publications  over  the  heads  of  other  far 
more  legitimately  dealing  firms.  He  entered  into  a  partial 
explanation  of  his  methods,  when,  on  the  morning  after  my 
first  meeting  with  the  Earl  of  Elton  and  his  daughter,  I  called 
upon  him  to  inquire  how  things  were  going  with  regard  to  my 
book. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  97 

"We  shall  publish  next  week," — he  said,  rubbing  his 
hands  complacently,  and  addressing  me  with  all  the  deference 
due  to  my  banking  account — '*  And  as  you  don't  mind  what 
you  spend,  I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  propose  to  do.  I  intend 
to  write  out  a  mystifying  paragraph  of  about  some  seventy  lines 
or  so,  describing  the  book  in  a  vague  sort  of  way  as  '  likely  to 
create  a  new  era  of  thought' — or,  '  ere  long  eve?'}' body  who  is 
anybody  will  be  compelled  to  read  this  remarkable  work,' — or 
*■  as  something  that  must  be  welcome  to  all  who  would  under- 
stand the  drift  of  one  of^Jhe  most  delicate  and  burning  questio?is 
of  the  time. '  These  are  all  stock  phrases,  used  over  and  over 
again  by  the  reviewers, — there's  no  copyright  in  them.  And 
the  last  one  always  *  tells'  wonderfully,  considering  how  old  it 
is  and  how  often  it  has  been  made  to  do  duty,  because  any 
allusion  to  a  '  delicate  and  burning  question''  makes  a  number 
of  people  think  the  novel  must  be  improper,  and  they  send  for 
it  at  once." 

He  chuckled  at  his  own  perspicuity,  and  I  sat  silent,  study- 
ing him  with  much  inward  amusement.  This  man  on  whose 
decision  I  had  humbly  and  anxiously  waited  not  so  many 
weeks  ago  was  now  my  paid  tool, — ready  to  obey  me  to  any 
possible  extent  for  so  much  cash, — and  I  listened  to  him  in- 
dulgently while  he  went  on  unravelling  his  schemes  for  the 
gratification  of  my  vanity,  and  the  pocketing  of  his  extras. 

*'  The  book  has  been  splendidly  advertised" — he  went  on ; 
"  It  could  not  have  been  more  lavishly  done.  Orders  do  not 
come  in  very  fast  yet — but  they  will, — they  will.  This  para- 
graph of  mine,  which  will  take  the  shape  of  a  leaderette,'  I 
can  get  inserted  in  about  eight  hundred  to  a  thousand  news- 
papers here  and  in  America.  It  will  cost  you, — say  a  hundred 
guineas — perhaps  a  trifle  more.     Do  you  mind  that?" 

*'  Not  in  the  least !"  I  replied,  still  vastly  amused. 

He  meditated  a  moment, — then  drew  his  chair  closer  to 
mine  and  lowered  his  voice  a  little. 

''You  understand  I   suppose,  that   I  shall  only  issue  two 
hundred  and  fifty  copies  at  first?" 
T^       g  9 


98  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

This  limited  number  seemed  to  me  absurd  and  I  protested 
vehemently. 

^'  Such  an  idea  is  ridiculous  !"  I  said — ''  you  cannot  supply 
the  trade  with  such  a  scanty  edition." 

''  Wait,  my  dear  sir,  wait, — you  are  too  impatient.  You  do 
not  give  me  time  to  explain.  All  these  two  hundred  and  fifty 
will  he  given  aiuay  by  me  in  the  proper  quarters  on  the  day  of 
publication,  never  mind  how, — they  must  be  given  away — " 

'^Why?" 

*'Why?"  and  the  worthy  Morgeson  laughed  sweetly — ''I 
see,  my  dear  Mr  Tempest,  you  are  like  most  men  of  genius — 
you  do  not  understand  business.  The  reason  why  we  give  the 
first  two  hundred  and  fifty  copies  away  is  in  order  to  be  able 
to  announce  at  once  in  all  the  papers  that  '  The  Fhst  Large 
Edition  of  the  New  Novel  by  Geoffrey  Tempest  being  exhausted 
on  the  day  of  publication,  a  Second  is  in  Rapid  Preparatiotiy 
You  see  we  thus  hoodwink  the  public,  who  of  course  are  not 
in  our  secrets,  and  are  not  to  know  whether  an  edition  is  two 
hundred  or  two  thousand.  The  Second  Edition  will  of  course 
be  ready  behind  the  scenes  and  will  consist  of  another  two 
hundred  and  fifty." 

*' Do  you  call  that  course  of  procedure  honest?"  I  asked 
quietly. 

*'  Honest  ?  My  dear  sir  !  Honest  ?' '  And  his  countenance 
wore  a  virtuously  injured  expression — '^  Of  course  it  is  honest ! 
Look  at  the  daily  papers  !  Such  announcements  appear  every 
day — in  fact  they  are  getting  rather  too  common.  I  freely 
admit  that  there  are  a  few  publishers  here  and  there  who  stick 
up  for  exactitude  and  go  to  the  trouble  of  not  only  giving  the 
number  of  copies  in  an  Edition,  but  also  publishing  the  date 
of  each  one  as  it  was  issued, — this  may  be  principle  if  they 
like  to  call  it  so,  but  it  involves  a  great  deal  of  precise  cal- 
culation and  worry  !  If  the  public  like  to  be  deceived,  what 
is  the  use  of  being  exact !  Now,  to  resume, — your  second 
edition  will  be  sent  off  '  on  sale  or  return'  to  provincial  book- 
sellers, and  then  we  shall  announce — '  In  consequence  of  the 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


99 


Enormous  Demand  for  the  new  novel  by  Geoffrey  Tempest,  the 
Large  Second  Edition  is  out  of  print.  A  Third  will  be  issued 
in  the  course  of  next  week.'  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  till  we 
get  to  the  sixth  or  seventh  edition  (always  numbering  two 
hundred  and  fifty  each)  in  three  volumes ;  perhaps  we  can  by 
skilful  management  work  it  up  to  a  tenth.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  diplomacy  and  a  little  dexterous  humbugging  of  the  trade. 
Then  we  shall  arrive  at  the  one- volume  issue  which  will  require 
different  handling.  But  there's  time  enough  for  that.  The 
frequent  advertisements  will  add  to  the  expense  a  bit,  but  if 
you  don't  mind — " 

''I  don't  mind  anything,"  I  said — '^so  long  as  I  have  my 
fun." 

^*Your  fun?"  he  queried  surprisedly — ''I  thought  it  was 
fame  you  wanted,  more  than  fun  !" 

I  laughed  aloud. 

**  I'm  not  such  a  fool  as  to  suppose  that  fame  is  secured  by 
advertisement,"  I  said — "  For  instance  I  am  one  of  those  who 
think  the  fame  of  Millais  as  an  artist  was  marred  when  he 
degraded  himself  to  the  level  of  painting  the  little  green  boy 
blowing  bubbles  of  Pears' s  Soap.  That  was  an  advertisement. 
And  that  very  incident  in  his  career,  trifling  though  it  seem, 
will  prevent  his  ever  standing  on  the  same  dignified  height  of 
distinction  with  such  masters  in  art  as  Romney,  Sir  Peter  Lely, 
Gainsborough  or  Reynolds." 

"  I  believe  there  is  a  great  deal  of  justice  in  what  you  say," — 
and  Morgeson  shook  his  head  wisely — ''Viewed  from  a 
purely  artistic  and  sentimental  standpoint  you  are  right." 
And  he  became  suddenly  downcast  and  dubious.  "  Yes, — it 
is  a  most  extraordinary  thing  how  fame  does  escape  people 
sometimes  just  when  they  seem  on  the  point  of  grasping  it. 
They  are  '  boomed'  in  every  imaginable  way,  and  yet  after 
a  time  nothing  will  keep  them  up.  And  there  are  others 
again  who  get  kicked  and  buffeted  and  mocked  and  de- 
rided  " 

''  Like  Christ  ?' '  I  interposed  with  a  half  smile.     He  looked 


100  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

shocked, — he   was   a   Non-conformist, — but  remembering  in 
time  how  rich  I  was,  he  bowed  with  a  meek  patience. 

''Yes" — and  he  sighed — ''as  you  suggest,  Mr  Tempest, 
like  Christ.  Mocked  and  derided  and  opposed  at  every  turn, 
— and  yet  by  the  queerest  caprice  of  destiny,  succeed  in 
winning  a  world-wide  fame  and  power ' ' 

''Like  Christ  again  !"  I  said  mischievously,  for  I  loved  to 
jar  his  non-conformist  conscience. 

*' Exactly!"  He  paused,  looking  piously  down.  Then 
with  a  return  of  secular  animation  he  added — "  But  I  was  not 
thinking  of  the  Great  Example  just  then,  Mr  Tempest — I  was 
thinking  of  a  woman." 

"  Indeed  !"  I  said  indifferently. 

"Yes — a  w^oman  who  despite  continued  abuse  and  opposi- 
tion is  rapidly  becoming  celebrated.  You  are  sure  to  hear 
of  her  in  literary  and  social  circles" — and  he  gave  me  a 
furtive  glance  of  doubtful  inquiry — "but  she  is  not  rich  you 
know, — only  famous.  However, — we  have  nothing  to  do 
with  her  just  now — so  let  us  return  to  business.  The  one 
uncertain  point  in  the  matter  of  your  book's  success  is  the 
attitude  of  the  critics.  There  are  only  six  leading  men  who 
do  the  reviews,  and  between  them  they  cover  all  the  English 
magazines  and  some  of  the  American  too,  as  well  as  the 
London  papers.  Here  are  their  names" — and  he  handed  me 
a  pencilled  memorandum, — "  and  their  addresses  as  far  as  I 
can  ascertain  them,  or  the  addresses  of  the  papers  for  which 
they  most  frequently  write.  The  man  at  the  head  of  the  list, 
David  McWhing,  is  the  most  formidable  of  the  lot.  He 
writes  everywhere  about  everything, — being  a  Scotchman  he's 
bound  to  have  his  finger  in  every  pie.  If  you  can  secure 
McWhing,  you  need  not  trouble  so  much  about  the  others,  as 
he  generally  gives  the  'lead,'  and  has  his  own  way  with  the 
editors.  He  is  one  of  the  '  personal  friends'  of  the  editor  of 
the  Nineteenth  Century  for  example,  and  you  would  be  sure 
to  get  a  notice  there,  which  would  otherwise  be  impossible. 
No  reviewer  can  review  anything  for  that  magazine  unless  he 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  loi 

is  one  of  the  editor's  friends.^"^  You  must  msn.ags  McWhin^,' 
or  he  might,  just  for  the  sake  of  '  showing  otf, '  cut  you  up 
rather  roughly. "  .,•'"'..: 

"That  would  not  matter,"  I  said,  diverted  at  the  idea  of 
'  managing  McWhing,' — "  A  little  slating  always  helps  a  book 
to  sell." 

'' In  some  cases  it  does" — and  Morgeson  stroked  his  thin 
beard  perplexedly — "  But  in  others  it  most  emphatically  does 
not.  Where  there  is  any  very  decided  or  daring  originality, 
adverse  criticism  is  always  the  most  effective.  But  a  work 
like  yours  requires  fostering  with  favour, — wants  '  booming' 
in  short " 

"  I  see  !"  and  I  felt  distinctly  annoyed — ''  You  don't  think 
my  book  original  enough  to  stand  alone  ?' ' 

''My  dear  sir! — you  are  really — really — !  what  shall  I 
say?"  and  he  smiled  apologetically — "a  little  brusque?  I 
think  your  book  shows  admirable  scholarship  and  delicacy  of 
thought, — if  I  find  fault  with  it  at  all,  it  is  perhaps  because  I 
am  dense.  The  only  thing  it  lacks  in  my  opinion  is  what  I 
should  call  tenaciousness,  for  want  of  a  better  expression, — 
the  quality  of  holding  the  reader's  fancy  fixed  like  a  nail. 
But  after  all  this  is  a  common  failing  of  modern  literature,  few 
authors  feel  sufficiently  themselves  to  make  others  feel." 

I  made  no  reply  for  a  moment.  I  w^as  thinking  of  Lucio's 
remarks  on  this  very  same  subject. 

"  Well !"  I  said  at  last—''  If  I  had  no  feeling  when  I  wrote 
the  book  I  certainly  have  none  now.  Why  man,  I  felt  every 
line  of  it ! — painfully  and  intensely  !" 

"  Ay,  ay  indeed  !"  said  Morgeson  soothingly — "  Or  perhaps 
you  thought  you  felt,  which  is  another  very  curious  phase  of 
the  literary  temperament.  You  see,  to  convince  people  at 
all,  you  must  first  yourself  be  convinced.  The  result  of  this 
is  generally  a  singular  magnetic  attraction  between  author 


*  The  author  has  Mr  Knovvles's  own  written  authority  for  this  '  log-roll- 
ing' fact. 


102  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

and  public. '  However  I  am  a  bad  hand  at  argument, — and 
it  is  possible  that  in  hasty  reading  I  may  have  gathered  a 
wrong' impression  of  your  intentions.  Anyhow  the  book 
shall  be  a  success  if  we  can  make  it  so.  All  I  venture  to  ask 
of  you  is  that  you  should  personally  endeavour  to  manage 
McWhing  !" 

I  promised  to  do  my  best,  and  on  this  understanding  we 
parted.  I  realized  that  Morgeson  was  capable  of  greater  dis- 
cernment than  I  had  imagined,  and  his  observations  had  given 
me  material  for  thought  which  was  not  altogether  agreeable. 
For  if  my  book  as  he  said  lacked  tenacity,  why  then  it  would 
not  take  root  in  the  public  mind, — it  would  be  merely  the 
ephemeral  success  of  a  season, — one  of  those  brief  '  booms'  in 
literary  wares  for  which  I  had  such  unmitigated  contempt, — 
and  Fame  would  be  as  far  off  as  ever,  except  that  spurious  im- 
itation of  it  which  the  fact  of  my  millions  had  secured.  I 
was  in  no  good  humour  that  afternoon,  and  Lucio  saw  it.  He 
soon  elicited  the  sum  and  substance  of  my  interview  with 
Morgeson,  and  laughed  long  and  somewhat  uproariously  over 
the  proposed  *  managing'  of  the  redoubtable  McWhing.  He 
glanced  at  the  five  names  of  the  other  leading  critics  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Morgeson  is  quite  right" — he  said — ''McWhing  is  inti- 
mate with  the  rest  of  these  fellows— they  meet  at  the  same 
clubs,  dine  at  the  same  cheap  restaurants  and  make  love  to  the 
same  painted  ballet-girls.  All  in  a  comfortable  little  fraternal 
union  together,  and  one  obliges  the  other  on  their  several 
journals  when  occasion  offers.  Oh  yes  !  I  should  make  up  to 
McWhing  if  I  were  you." 

"But  how?"  I  demanded,  for  though  I  knew  McWhing's 
name  well  enough  having  seen  it  signed  ad  nauseam  to  literary 
articles  in  almost  every  paper  extant,  I  had  never  met  the  man  ; 
"  I  cannot  ask  any  favour  of  a  press  critic." 

"Of  course  not !"  and  Lucio  laughed  heartily  again — "  If 
you  were  to  do  such  an  idiotic  thing  what  a  slating  you'd  get 
for  your  pains  !     There's  no  sport  a  critic  loves  so  much  as 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  103 

the  flaying  of  an  author  who  has  made  the  mistake  of  lowering 
himself  to  the  level  of  asking  favours  of  his  intellectual  inferiors. 
No,  no,  my  dear  fellow  ! — we  shall  manage  McWhing  quite 
differently,     /know  him  though  you  do  not." 

"Come,  that's  good  news !"  I  exclaimed — "Upon  my  word, 
Lucio,  you  seem  to  know  everybody." 

"  I  think  I  know  most  people  worth  knowing — "  responded 
Lucio  quietly — "  Though  I  by  no  means  include  Mr  McWhing 
in  the  category  of  worthiness.  I  happened  to  make  his 
personal  acquaintance  in  a  somewhat  singular  and  exciting 
manner.  It  was  in  Switzerland,  on  that  awkward  ledge  of 
rock  known  as  the  Mauvais  Pas.  I  had  been  some  weeks 
in  the  neighbourhood  on  business  of  my  own,  and  being  sure- 
footed and  fearless,  was  frequently  allowed  by  the  guides  to 
volunteer  my  services  with  theirs.  In  this  capacity  of 
amateur  guide,  capricious  destiny  gave  me  the  pleasure  of 
escorting  the  timid  and  bilious  McWhing  across  the  chasms 
of  the  Mer  de  Glace,  and  I  conversed  with  him  in  the 
choicest  French  all  the  while,  a  language  of  which,  despite 
his  boasted  erudition,  he  was  deplorably  ignorant.  I  knew 
who  he  was,  I  must  tell  you,  as  I  know  most  of  his  craft,  and 
had  long  been  aware  of  him  as  one  of  the  authorized 
murderers  of  aspiring  genius.  When  I  got  him  on  the 
Mauvais  Pas,  I  saw  that  he  was  seized  with  vertigo ;  I  held 
him  firmly  by  the  arm  and  addressed  him  in  sound  strong 
English  thus — '  Mr.  McWhing,  you  wrote  a  damnable  and 
scurrilous  article  against  the  work  of  a  certain  poet'  and  I 
named  the  man — 'an  article  that  was  a  tissue  of  lies  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  which  by  its  cruelty  and  venom 
embittered  a  life  of  brilliant  promise,  and  crushed  a  nob'e 
spirit.  Now,  unless  you  promise  to  write  and  publish  in  a 
leading  magazine  a  total  recantation  of  this  your  crime  when 
you  get  back  to  England, — if  you  get  back  ! — giving  that 
wronged  man  the  '  honourable  mention'  he  rightly  deserves, 
— down  you  go  !  I  have  but  to  loosen  my  hold  !'  Geoffre}^ 
you    should    have    seen    McWhing    then !     He    whined,    he 


104  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

wriggled,  he  clung !  Never  was  an  oracle  of  the  press  in 
such  an  unoracular  condition.  ^Murder!' — murder!'  he 
gasped,  but  his  voice  failed  him.  Above  him  towered  the 
snow  peaks  like  the  summits  of  that  Fame  he  could  not 
reach  and  therefore  grudged  to  others, — below  him  the  glitter- 
ing ice-waves  yawned  in  deep  transparent  hollows  of  opaline 
blue  and  green, — and  afar  off  the  tinkling  cowbells  echoed 
through  the  still  air,  suggestive  of  safe  green  pastures  and  happy- 
homes.  '  Murder  !'  he  whispered  gurglingly.  *  Nay  !'  said  I, 
*  'tis  I  should  cry  Murder  ! — for  if  ever  an  arresting  hand  held 
a  murderer,  mine  holds  one  now  !  Your  system  of  slaying  is 
worse  than  that  of  the  midnight  assassin,  for  the  assassin  can 
but  kill  the  body, — yozi  strive  to  kill  the  soul.  You  cannot 
succeed  'tis  true,  but  the  mere  attempt  is  devilish.  No  shouts, 
no  struggles  will  serve  you  here, — we  are  alone  with  Eternal 
Nature, — give  the  man  you  have  slandered  his  tardy  recogni- 
tion, or  else,  as  I  said  before — down  you  go  !'  Well,  to  make 
my  story  short  he  yielded,  and  swore  to  do  as  I  bade  him, — 
whereupon  placing  my  arm  round  him  as  though  he  were  my 
tender  twin-brother  I  led  him  safely  off  the  Mauvais  Pas  and 
dowm  the  kindlier  hill,  where,  what  with  the  fright  and  the 
remains  of  vertigo  he  fell  a' weeping  grievously.  Would  you 
believe  it,  that  before  we  reached  Chamounix  we  had  become 
the  best  friends  in  the  world  ?  He  explained  himself  and  his 
rascally  modes  of  action,  and  I  nobly  exonerated  him, — we 
exchanged  cards,  and  when  we  parted,  this  same  author's  bug- 
bear McWhing,  overcome  with  sentiment  and  whisky  toddy 
(he  is  a  Scotchman  you  know)  swore  that  I  was  the  grandest 
fellow  in  the  world,  and  that  if  ever  he  could  serve  me  he 
would.  He  knew  my  princely  title  by  this  time,  but  he  would 
have  given  me  a  still  higher  name.  ''You  are  not — hie — a 
poet  yourself?'  he  murmured,  leaning  on  me  fondly  as  he 
rolled  to  bed.  I  told  him  no.  'I  am  sorry — very!'  he  de- 
ckired,  the  tears  of  whisky  rising  to  his  eyes,  '  If  you  had  been 
I  would  have  done  a  great  thing  for  you, — I  would  have 
boomed   you,— for  ?iofhi/i^ /'     I  left  him  snoring   nobly  and 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  105 

saw  him  no  more.  But  I  think  he'll  recognise  me,  Geoffrey; 
— I'll  go  and  look  him  up  personally.  By  all  the  gods  ! — if 
he  had  only  known  who  held  him  between  life  and  death  upon 
the  Mauvais  Pas !" 

I  stared,  puzzled. 

"But  he  did  know" — I  said — "Did  you  not  say  you 
exchanged  cards  ?' ' 

"  True,  but  that  was  afterwards  !"  and  Lucio  laughed — "  I 
assure  you,  my  dear  fellow,  we  can  'manage'  McWhing  !" 

I  was  intensely  interested  in  the  story  as  he  told  it, — he 
had  such  a  dramatic  way  of  speaking  and  looking,  while  his 
very  gestures  brought  the  whole  scene  vividly  before  me  like  a 
picture.     I  spoke  out  my  thought  impulsively. 

"  You  would  certainly  have  made  a  superb  actor,  Lucio  !" 

"How  do  you  know  I  am  not  one?"  he  asked  with  a 
flashing  glance, — then  he  added  quickly — "No, — there  is  no 
occasion  to  paint  the  face  and  prance  over  the  boards  before 
a  row  of  tawdry  footlights  like  the  paid  mimes  in  order  to 
be  historically  great.  The  finest  actor  is  he  who  can  play 
the  comedy  of  life  perfectly,  as  I  aspire  to  do.  To  walk 
well,  talk  well,  smile  well,  weep  well,  groan  well,  laugh  well 
— and  die  well ! — it  is  all  pure  acting, — because  in  every 
man  there  is  the  dumb  dreadful  immortal  Spirit  who  is  real, 
— who  cannot  act, — who  Is, — and  who  steadily  maintains  an 
infinite  though  speechless  protest  against  the  body's  Lie  !" 

I  said  nothing  in  answer  to  this  outburst, — I  was  beginning 
to  be  used  to  his  shifting  humours  and  strange  utterances, — 
they  increased  the  mysterious  attraction  I  had  for  him  and 
made  his  character  a  perpetual  riddle  to  me  which  was  not 
without  its  subtle  charm.  Every  now  and  then  I  realized, 
with  a  faintly  startled  sense  of  self-abasement,  that  I  was  com- 
pletely under  his  dominance, — that  my  life  was  being  entirely 
guided  by  his  control  and  suggestion, — but  I  argued  with 
myself  that  surely  it  was  well  it  should  be  so,  seeing  he  had 
so  much  more  experience  and  influence  than  I.  We  dined 
together  that  night  as  we  often  did,  and  our  conversation  was 


io6  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

entirely  taken  up  with  monetary  and  business  concerns. 
Under  Lucio's  advice  I  was  making  several  important  invest- 
ments, and  these  matters  gave  us  ample  subject  for  discussion. 
At  about  eleven  o'clock,  it  being  a  fine  frosty  evening  and  fit 
for  brisk  walking,  we  went  out,  our  destination  being  the  pri- 
vate gambling  club  to  which  my  companion  had  volunteered 
to  introduce  me  as  a  guest.  It  was  situated  at  the  end  of 
a  mysterious  little  back  street,  not  far  from  the  respectable 
precincts  of  Pali-Mall,  and  was  an  unpretentious  looking 
house  enough  outside,  but  within,  it  was  sumptuously  though 
tastelessly  furnished.  Apparently,  the  premises  were  presided 
over  by  a  woman, — a  woman  with  painted  eyes  and  dyed  hair 
who  received  us  first  of  all  within  the  lamp-lighted  splendours 
of  an  Anglo-Japanese  drawing-room.  Her  looks  and  manner 
undisguisedly  proclaimed  her  as  a  deuii-mondaine  of  the  most 
pronounced  type, — one  of  those  *  pure'  ladies  with  a  '  past' 
who  are  represented  as  such  martyrs  to  the  vices  of  men. 
Lucio  said  something  to  her  apart, — whereupon  she  glanced 
at  me  deferentially  and  smiled, — then  rang  the  bell.  A 
discreet  looking  man-servant  in  sober  black  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  at  a  slight  sign  from  his  mistress  who  bowed  to  me 
as  I  passed  her,  proceeded  to  show  us  upstairs.  We  trod  on 
a  carpet  of  the  softest  felt, — in  fact  I  noticed  that  everything 
was  rendered  as  noiseless  as  possible  in  this  establishment, 
the  very  doors  being  covered  with  thick  baize  and  swinging  on 
silent  hinges.  On  the  upper  landing,  the  servant  knocked 
very  cautiously  at  a  side-door, — a  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and 
we  were  admitted  into  a  long  double  room,  very  brilliantly 
lit  with  electric  lamps,  which  at  a  first  glance  seemed  crowded 
with  men  playing  at  7'ouge  et  noir  and  baccarat.  Some  looked 
up  as  Lucio  entered  and  nodded  smilingly, — others  glanced 
inquisitively  at  me,  but  our  entrance  was  otherwise  scarcely 
noticed.  Lucio  drawing  me  along  by  the  arm,  sat  doAvn  to 
watch  the  play, — I  followed  his  example  and  presently  found 
myself  infected  by  the  intense  excitement  which  permeated 
the  room  like  the  silent  tension  of  the  air  before  a  thunder- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  107 

storm.  I  recognised  the  faces  of  many  well  known  public 
men, — men  eminent  in  politics  and  society  whom  one  would 
never  have  imagined  capable  of  supporting  a  gambling  club 
by  their  presence  and  authority.  But  I  took  care  to  betray 
no  sign  of  surprise,  and  quietly  observed  the  games  and  the 
gamesters  with  almost  as  impassive  a  demeanour  as  that  of  my 
companion.  I  was  prepared  to  play  and  to  lose, — I  was  not 
prepared  however  for  the  strange  scene  which  was  soon  to 
occur  and  in  which  I,  by  force  of  circumstances  was  com- 
pelled to  take  a  leading  part. 


X 

As  soon  as  the  immediate  game  we  were  watching  was  fin- 
ished, the  players  rose,  and  greeted  Lucio  with  a  good  deal  of 
eagerness  and  effusion.  I  instinctively  guessed  from  their 
manner  that  they  looked  upon  him  as  an  influential  member 
of  the  club,  a  person  likely  to  lend  them  money  to  gamble 
with,  and  otherwise  to  oblige  them  in  various  ways,  financially 
speaking.  He  introduced  me  to  them  all,  and  I  was  not  slow 
to  perceive  the  effect  my  name  had  upon  most  of  them.  I 
was  asked  if  I  would  join  in  a  game  of  baccarat,  and  I  readily 
consented.  The  stakes  were  ruinously  high,  but  I  had  no 
need  to  falter  for  that.  One  of  the  players  near  me  was  a 
fair-haired  young  man,  handsome  in  face  and  of  aristocratic 
bearing, — he  had  been  introduced  to  me  as  Viscount  Lynton. 
I  noticed  him  particularly  on  account  of  the  reckless  way  he 
had  of  doubling  his  stakes  suddenly  and  apparently  out  of 
mere  bravado,  and  when  he  lost,  as  he  mostly  did,  he  laughed 
uproariously  as  though  he  were  drunk  or  delirious.  On  first 
beginning  to  play  I  was  entirely  indifferent  as  to  the  results  of 
the  game,  caring  nothing  at  all  as  to  whether  I  had  losses  or 
gains.  Lucio  did  not  join  us,  but  sat  apart,  quietly  observant, 
and  watching  me,  so  I  fancied,  more  than  anyone.     And  as 


io8  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

chance  would  have  it,  all  the  luck  came  my  way,  and  I  won 
steadily.  The  more  I  won  the  more  excited  I  became,  till 
presently  my  humour  changed  and  I  was  seized  by  a  whimsical 
desire  to  lose.  I  suppose  it  was  the  touch  of  some  better  im- 
pulse in  my  nature  that  made  me  wish  this  for  young  Lynton's 
sake.  For  he  seemed  literally  maddened  by  my  constant 
winnings,  and  continued  his  foolhardy  and  desperate  play, — 
his  young  face  grew  drawn  and  sharply  thin,  and  his  eyes 
glittered  with  a  hungry  feverishness.  The  other  gamesters, 
though  sharing  in  his  run  of  ill-luck,  seemed  better  able  to 
stand  it,  or  perhaps  they  concealed  their  feelings  more  cleverly, 
— anyhow  I  know  I  caught  myself  very  earnestly  wishing  that 
this  devil's  luck  of  mine  would  desert  me  and  set  in  the  young 
Viscount's  direction.  But  my  wishes  were  no  use, — again  and 
again  I  gathered  up  the  stakes,  till  at  last  the  players  rose. 
Viscount  Lynton  among  them. 

"  Well,  I'm  cleaned  out  !"  he  said,  with  a  loud  forced  laugh. 
"You  must  give  me  my  chance  of  a  revanche  to-morrow,  Mr 
Tempest ! ' ' 

I  bowed. 

"  With  pleasure  !" 

He  called  a  waiter  at  the  end  of  the  room  to  bring  him  a 
brandy-and-soda,  and  meanwhile  I  was  surrounded  by  the  rest 
of  the  men,  all  of  them  repeating  the  Viscount's  suggestion  of 
a  'revanche,'  and  strenuously  urging  upon  me  the  necessity  of 
returning  to  the  club  the  next  night  in  order  to  give  them  an 
opportunity  of  winning  back  what  they  had  lost.  I  readily 
agreed,  and  while  we  were  in  the  midst  of  talk,  Lucio  sud- 
denly addressed  young  Lynton. 

"  Will  you  make  up  another  game  with  me  ?"  he  inquired. 
'Til  start  the  bank  with  this," — and  he  placed  two  crisp  notes 
of  five  hundred  pounds  each  on  the  table. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  Viscount  was  thirstily 
drinking  his  brandy  and-soda,  and  glanced  over  the  rim  of  his 
tall  tumbler  at  the  notes  with  covetous  bloodshot  eyes, — then 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently.      "  I  can't  stake  any- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  109 

thing,"  he  said  ;  ''  I've  already  told  you  I'm  cleaned  out, — • 
'stony-broke,'  as  the  slang  goes.     It's  no  use  my  joining." 

''Sit  down,  sit  down,  Lynton  !"  urged  one  man  near  him. 
"I'll  lend  you  enough  to  go  on  with." 

"Thanks,  I'd  rather  not!"  he  returned,  flushing  a  little. 
"I'm  too  much  in  your  debt  already.  Awfully  good  of  you 
all  the  same.  You  go  on,  you  fellows,  and  I'll  watch  the 
play." 

"  Let  me  persuade  you.  Viscount  Lynton,"  said  Lucio,  look- 
ing at  him  with  his  dazzling  inscrutable  smile — "just  for  the 
fun  of  the  thing  !  If  you  do  not  feel  justified  in  staking 
money,  stake  something  trifling  and  merely  nominal,  for  the 
sake  of  seeing  whether  the  luck  will  turn" — and  here  he  took 
up  a  counter — "This  frequently  represents  fifty  pounds, — let 
it  represent  for  once  something  that  is  not  valuable  like  money, 
— your  soul,  for  example  !"  A  burst  of  laughter  broke  from 
all  the  men.     Lucio  laughed  softly  with  them. 

"  We  all  have,  I  hope,  enough  instruction  in  modern  science 
to  be  aware  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  soul  in  existence' ' 
— he  continued.  "Therefore,  in  proposing  it  as  a  stake  for 
this  game  at  baccarat,  I  really  propose  less  than  one  hair  of 
your  head,  because  the  hair  is  a  something,  and  the  soul  is  a 
nothing  !  Come  !  will  you  risk  that  non-existent  quantity  for 
the  chance  of  winning  a  thousand  pounds?" 

The  Viscount  drained  off  the  last  drop  of  brandy,  and  turned 
upon  us,  his  eyes  flashing  mingled  derision  and  defiance. 

"  Done  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  whereupon  the  party  sat  down. 

The  game  was  brief,  and  in  its  rapid  excitement  almost 
breathless.  Six  or  seven  minutes  sufficed  and  Lucio  rose,  the 
winner.  He  smiled  as  he  pointed  to  the  counter  which  had 
represented  Viscount  Lynton' s  last  stake. 

"  I  have  won  ! "  he  said  quietly.  "  But  you  owe  me  nothing, 
my  dear  Viscount,  inasmuch  as  you  risked — Nothing  !  We 
played  this  game  simply  for  fun.  If  souls  had  any  existence 
of  course  I  should  claim  yours ; — I  wonder  what  I  should  do 
with  it  by  the  way  ! ' '    He  laughed  good-humouredly.     "  What 


no  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

nonsense,  isn't  it ! — and  how  thankful  we  ought  to  be  that  we 
live  in  advanced  days  like  the  present,  when  such  silly  super- 
stitions are  being  swept  aside  by  the  march  of  progress  and 
pure  Reason  !  Good-night !  Tempest  and  I  will  give  you  your 
full  revenge  to-morrow, — the  luck  is  sure  to  change  by  then, 
and  you  will  probably  have  the  victory.    Again — good-night ! ' ' 

He  held  out  his  hand, — there  was  a  peculiar  melting  tender- 
ness in  his  brilliant  dark  eyes, — an  impressive  kindness  in  his 
manner.  Something — I  could  not  tell  what — held  us  all  for 
the  moment  spellbound  as  if  by  enchantment,  and  several  of 
the  players  at  other  tables,  hearing  of  the  eccentric  stake 
that  had  been  wagered  and  lost,  looked  over  at  us  curiously 
from  a  distance.  Viscount  Lynton,  however,  professed  him- 
self immensely  diverted,  and  shook  Lucio's  proffered  hand 
heartily. 

**  You  are  an  awfully  good  fellow  !"  he  said,  speaking  a  little 
thickly  and  hurriedly — ^'  and  I  assure  you  seriously  if  I  had  a 
soul  I  should  be  very  glad  to  part  with  it  for  a  thousand  pounds 
at  the  present  moment.  The  soul  wouldn't  be  an  atom  of  use 
to  me  and  the  thousand  pounds  would.  But  I  feel  convinced 
I  shall  win  to-morrow." 

*'I  am  equally  sure  you  will!"  returned  Lucio  affably; 
*'  In  the  meantime,  you  will  not  find  my  friend  here,  Geoffrey 
Tempest,  a  hard  creditor, — he  can  afford  to  wait.  But  in  the 
case  of  the  lost  soul," — here  he  paused,  looking  straight  into 
the  young  man's  eyes, — *'  of  course  /cannot  afford  to  wait !" 

The  Viscount  smiled  vaguely  at  this  pleasantry,  and  almost 
immediately  afterwards  left  the  club.  As  soon  as  the  door  had 
closed  behind  him,  several  of  the  gamesters  exchanged  sen- 
tentious nods  and  glances. 

*'  Ruined  !"  said  one  of  them  in  a  sotto-voce. 

''His  gambling  debts  are  more  than  he  can  ever  pay" — 
added  another — ''  And  I  hear  he  has  lost  a  clear  fifty  thousand 
on  the  turf." 

These  remarks  were  made  indifferently,  as  though  one  should 
talk  of  the  weather, — no  sympathy  was  expressed, — no  pity 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  iii 

wasted.  Every  gambler  there  was  selfish  to  the  core,  and  as 
I  studied  their  hardened  faces,  a  thrill  of  honest  indignation 
moved  me, — indignation  mingled  with  shame.  I  was  not  yet 
altogether  callous  or  cruel-hearted,  though  as  I  look  back  upon 
those  days  which  now  resemble  a  wild  vision  rather  than  a 
reality,  I  know  that  I  was  becoming  more  and  more  of  a  brutal 
egoist  with  every  hour  I  lived.  Still  I  was  so  far  then  from 
being  utterly  vile,  that  I  inwardly  resolved  to  write  to  Vis- 
count Lynton  that  very  evening,  and  tell  him  to  consider  his 
debt  to  me  cancelled,  as  I  should  refuse  to  claim  it.  While 
this  thought  was  passing  through  my  mind,  I  met  Lucio's  gaze 
fixed  steadily  upon  me.  He  smiled, — and  presently  signed  to 
me  to  accompany  him.  In  a  few  minutes  we  had  left  the 
club,  and  were  out  in  the  cold  night  air  under  a  heaven  of 
frostily  sparkling  stars.  Standing  still  for  a  moment,  my  com- 
panion laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

''Tempest,  if  you  are  going  to  be  kind-hearted  or  sympa- 
thetic to  undeserving  rascals,  I  shall  have  to  part  company  with 
you  !"  he  said,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  satire  and  serious- 
ness in  his  voice — "  I  see  by  the  expression  of  your  face  that 
you  are  meditating  some  silly  disinterested  action  of  pure  gen- 
erosity. Now  you  might  just  as  well  flop  down  on  these 
paving  stones  and  begin  saying  prayers  in  public.  You  want 
to  let  Lynton  off  his  debt, — you  are  a  fool  for  your  pains.  He 
is  a  born  scoundrel, — and  has  never  seen  his  way  to  being 
anything  else, — why  should  you  compassionate  him?  From 
the  time  he  first  went  to  college  till  now,  he  has  been  doing 
nothing  but  live  a  life  of  degraded  sensuality, — he  is  a  worth- 
less rake,  less  to  be  respected  than  an  honest  dog !" 

*' Yet  some  one  loves  him  I  daresay  !"  I  said. 

"  Some  one  loves  him  !"  echoed  Lucio,  with  inimitable  dis- 
dain— "  Bah  !  Three  ballet  girls  live  on  him  if  that  is  what 
you  mean.  His  mother  loved  him, — but  she  is  dead, — he 
broke  her  heart.  He  is  no  good  I  tell  you, — let  him  pay  his 
debt  in  full,  even  to  the  soul  he  staked  so  lightly.  If  I  were 
the  devil  now,  and  had  just  won  the  strange  game  we  played 


112  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

to-night,  I  suppose  according  to  priestly  tradition,  I  should 
be  piling  up  the  fire  for  Lynton  in  high  glee, — but  being  what 
I  am,  I  say  let  the  man  alone  to  make  his  own  destiny, — let 
things  take  their  course, — and  as  he  chose  to  risk  everything, 
so  let  him  pay  everything." 

We  were  by  this  time  walking  slowly  into  Pall-Mall, — I 
was  on  the  point  of  making  some  reply,  when  catching  sight 
of  a  man's  figure  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  not  far 
from  the  Marlborough  Club,  I  uttered  an  involuntary  ex- 
clamation. 

*'  Why  there  he  is  !"  I  said — "  there  is  Viscount  Lynton  !" 

Lucio's  hand  closed  tightly  on  my  arm. 

*' You  don't  want  to  speak  to  him  now  surely  !" 

''No.  But  I  wonder  where  he's  going?  He  walks  rather 
unsteadily." 

"  Drunk,  most  probably !" 

And  Lucio's  face  presented  the  same  relentless  expression 
of  scorn  I  had  so  often  seen  and  marvelled  at. 

We  paused  a  moment,  watching  the  Viscount  strolling  aim- 
lessly up  and  down  in  front  of  the  clubs, — till  all  at  once  he 
seemed  to  come  to  a  sudden  resolution,  and  stopping  short,  he 
shouted, 

"Hansom!" 

A  silent-wheeled  smart  vehicle  came  bowling  up  immedi- 
ately. Giving  some  order  to  the  driver,  he  jumped  in.  The 
cab  approached  swiftly  in  our  direction, — just  as  it  passed  us 
the  loud  report  of  a  pistol  crashed  on  the  silence. 

"Good  God!"  I  cried  reeling  back  a  step  or  two — "He 
has  shot  himself ! ' ' 

The  hansom  stopped, — the  driver  sprang  down,— club- 
porters,  waiters,  policemen  and  no  end  of  people  starting  up 
from  Heaven  knows  where,  were  on  the  scene  on  an  instant, 
— I  rushed  forward  to  join  the  rapidly  gathering  throng,  but 
before  I  could  do  so,  Lucio's  strong  arm  was  thrown  round 
me,  and  he  dragged  me  by  main  force  away. 

"  Keep  cool,  Geoffrey  !"  he  said—"  Do  you  want  to  be  called 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  113 

up  to  identify  ?  And  betray  the  club  and  all  its  members  ? 
Not  while  I  am  here  to  prevent  you  !  Check  your  mad 
impulses,  my  good  fellow, — they  will  lead  you  into  no  end  of 
difficulties.  If  the  man's  dead,  he's  dead  and  there's  an  end 
of  it." 

"  Lucio  !  You  have  no  heart!"  I  exclaimed,  struggling 
violently  to  escape  from  his  hold — ''  How  can  you  stop  to 
reason  in  such  a  case  !  Think  of  it !  /  am  the  cause  of  all 
the  mischief ! — it  is  my  cursed  luck  at  baccarat  this  evening 
that  has  been  the  final  blow  to  the  wretched  young  fellow's 
fortunes, — I  am  convinced  of  it  1 — I  shall  never  forgive 
myself — ' ' 

''  Upon  my  word,  Geoffrey,  your  conscience  is  very  tender  !" 
he  answered,  holding  my  arm  still  more  closely,  and  hurrying 
me  away  despite  myself — ''  You  must  try  and  toughen  it  a 
little  if  you  want  to  be  successful  in  life.  Your  '  cursed  luck' 
you  think,  has  caused  Lynton's  death?  Surely  it  is  a  contra- 
diction in  terms  to  call  luck  'cursed,' — and  as  for  the  Vis- 
count, he  did  not  need  that  last  game  at  baccarat  to  emphasize 
his  ruin.  You  are  not  to  blame.  And  for  the  sake  of  the 
club,  if  for  nothing  else,  I  do  not  intend  either  you  or  myself 
to  be  mixed  up  in  a  case  of  suicide.  The  coroner's  verdict 
always  disposes  of  these  incidents  comfortably  in  two  words — 
'Temporary  insanity.'  " 

I  shuddered.  My  soul  sickened  as  I  thought  that  within  a 
few  yards  of  us  was  the  bleeding  corpse  of  the  man  I  had  so 
lately  seen  alive  and  spoken  with, — and  notwithstanding  Lu- 
cio's  words,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  murdered  him. 

*'  '  Temporary  insanity,'  "  repeated  Lucio  again,  as  if  speak- 
ing to  himself — "All  remorse,  despair,  outraged  honour, 
wasted  love,  together  with  the  scientific  modern  theory  of 
Reasonable  Nothingness — Life  a  Nothing,  God  a  Nothing, — 
when  these  drive  the  distracted  human  unit  to  make  of  him- 
self also  a  nothing,  '  temporary  insanity'  covers  up  his  plunge 
into  the  infinite  with  an  untruthful  pleasantness.  However, 
after  all,  it  is  as  Shakespeare  says,  a  mad  world  !" 
h  10* 


114  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

I  made  no  answer.  I  was  too  overcome  by  my  own  miser- 
able sensations.  1  walked  along  almost  unconscious  of  move- 
ment, and  as  I  stared  bewilderedly  up  at  the  stars  they  danced 
before  my  sight  like  fireflies  whirling  in  a  mist  of  miasma. 
Presently  a  faint  hope  occurred  to  me. 

''  Perhaps,"  I  said,  ''he  has  not  really  killed  himself?  It 
may  be  only  an  attempt  ?' ' 

*'Hewas  a  capital  shot" — returned  Lucio  composedly, — 
''That  was  his  one  quality.  He  had  no  principles — but  he 
was  a  good  marksman.     I  cannot  imagine  his  missing  aim." 

"  It  is  horrible  !  An  hour  ago  alive,  .  .  .  and  now  .  .  . 
I  tell  you,  Lucio,  it  is  horrible  ! ' ' 

"  What  is  ?  Death  ?  It  is  not  half  so  horrible  as  Life  lived 
wrongly" — he  responded,  with  a  gravity  that  impressed  me 
in  spite  of  my  emotion  and  excitement — "Believe  me,  the 
mental  sickness  and  confusion  of  a  wilfully  degraded  ex- 
istence are  worse  tortures  than  are  contained  in  the  priestly 
notions  of  Hell.  Come,  come,  Geoffrey,  you  take  this  matter 
too  much  to  heart, — you  are  not  to  blame.  If  Lynton  has 
given  himself  the  '  happy  dispatch'  it  is  really  the  best  thing 
he  could  do, — he  was  of  no  use  to  anybody,  and  he  is  well 
out  of  it.  It  is  positively  weak  of  you  to  attach  importance 
to  such  a  trifle.  You  are  only  at  the  beginning  of  your 
career " 

"Well,  I  hope  that  career  will  not  lead  me  into  any  more 
such  tragedies  as  the  one  enacted  to-night," — I  said  passion- 
ately— "  If  it  does,  it  will  be  entirely  against  my  will." 

Lucio  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  Nothing  can  happen  to  you  against  your  will," — he  re- 
plied ;  "I  suppose  you  wish  to  imply  that  I  am  to  blame  for 
introducing  you  to  the  club  ?  My  good  fellow,  you  need  not 
have  gone  there  unless  you  had  chosen  to  do  so  !  I  did  not 
bind  and  drag  you  there  !  You  are  upset  and  unnerved, — 
come  into  my  room  and  take  a  glass  of  wine, — you  will  feel 
more  of  a  man  afterwards." 

We  had  by  this  time  reached  the  hotel,  and  I  went  with 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  115 

him  passively.  With  equal  passiveness  I  drank  what  he  gave 
me,  and  stood,  glass  in  hand,  watching  him  with  a  kind  of 
morbid  fascination  as  he  threw  off  his  fur-lined  overcoat  and 
confronted  me,  his  pale  handsome  face  strangely  set  and  stern, 
and  his  dark  eyes  glittering  like  cold  steel. 

**That  last  stake  of  Lynton's,  ...  to  you — "  I  said  fal- 
teringly — "  His  soul " 

'' Wliich  he  did  not  believe  in,  and  \Av\q}!lv  you  do  not  be- 
lieve in!"  returned  Lucio  regarding  me  fixedly.  ''Why  do 
you  now  seem  to  tremble  at  a  mere  sentimental  idea  ?  If  fan- 
tastic notions  such  as  God,  the  Soul,  and  the  Devil  were  real 
facts,  there  would  perhaps  be  cause  for  trembling,  but  being 
only  the  brainsick  imaginations  of  superstitious  mankind, 
there  is  nothing  in  them  to  awaken  the  slightest  anxiety  or 
fear." 

'*  But  you" — I  began — ''  you  say  you  believe  in  the  soul  ?" 

**I?  I  am  brainsick!"  and  he  laughed  bitterly — ''Have 
you  not  found  that  out  yet  ?  Much  learning  hath  driven  me 
mad,  my  friend  !  Science  has  led  me  into  such  deep  wells 
of  dark  discovery,  that  it  is  no  wonder  if  my  senses  some- 
times reel, — and  I  believe — at  su.ch  insane  moments — in  the 
Soul!" 

I  sighed  heavily. 

**  I  think  I  will  go  to  bed,"  I  answered.  "  I  am  tired  out, 
— and  absolutely  miserable  !" 

"  Alas,  poor  millionaire  !"  said  Lucio  gently, — "  I  am  sorry, 
I  assure  you,  that  the  evening  has  ended  so  disastrously." 

"  So  am  I !"  I  returned  despondently. 

"Imagine  it!"  he  went  on,  dreamily  regarding  me — "If 
my  beliefs, — my  crack-brained  theories, — were  worth  any- 
thing^— which  they  are  not — I  could  claim  the  only  positive 
existing  part  of  our  late  acquaintance  Viscount  Lynton  I  But, 
— where  and  how  to  send  in  my  account  with  him  ?  If  I  were 
Satan  now  ..." 

I  forced  a  faint  smile. 

"  You  would  have  cause  to  rejoice  !"  I  said. 


ii6  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

He  moved  two  paces  towards  me,  and  laid  his  hands  gently 
on  my  shoulders. 

"No,  Geoffrey" — and  his  rich  voice  had  a  strange  soft 
music  in  it — *'  No,  my  friend  !  If  I  were  Satan,  I  should 
probably  lament ! — for  every  lost  soul  would  of  necessity 
remind  me  of  my  own  fall,  my  own  despair, — and  set  another 
bar  between  myself  and  heaven !  Remember, — the  very 
Devil  was  an  Angel  once  ! ' ' 

His  eyes  smiled,  and  yet  I  could  have  sworn  there  were 
tears  in  them.  I  wrung  his  hand  hard, — I  felt  that  nothwith- 
standing  his  assumed  coldness  and  cynicism,  the  fate  of  young 
Lynton  had  affected  him  profoundly.  My  liking  for  him 
gained  new  fervour  from  this  impression,  and  I  went  to  bed 
more  at  ease  with  myself  and  things  in  general.  During  the 
few  minutes  I  spent  in  undressing  I  became  even  able  to  con- 
template the  tragedy  of  the  evening  with  less  regret  and  greater 
calmness, — for  it  was  certainly  no  use  worrying  over  the  irrev- 
ocable,— and,  after  all,  what  interest  had  the  Viscount's  life 
for  me  ?  None.  I  began  to  ridicule  myself  for  my  own  weak- 
ness and  disinterested  emotion, — and  presently,  being  thor- 
oughly fatigued,  fell  sound  asleep.  Towards  morning  however, 
perhaps  about  four  or  five  o'clock,  I  woke  suddenly  as  though 
touched  by  an  invisible  hand.  I  was  shivering  violently,  and 
my  body  was  bathed  in  a  cold  perspiration.  In  the  otherwise 
dark  room  there  was  something  strangely  luminous,  like  a  cloud 
of  white  smoke  or  fire.  I  started  up,  rubbing  my  eyes, — and 
stared  before  me  for  a  moment,  doubting  the  evidence  of  my 
own  senses.  For,  plainly  visible  and  substantially  distinct, 
at  a  distance  of  perhaps  five  paces  from  my  bed  stood  three 
Figures,  muffled  in  dark  garments  and  closely  hooded.  So 
solemnly  inert  they  were, — so  heavily  did  their  sable  draperies 
fall  about  them  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  they  were 
men  or  women, — but  what  paralyzed  me  with  amazement  and 
terror  was  the  strange  light  that  played  around  and  above  them, 
— the  spectral,  wandering  chill  radiance  that  illumined  them 
like  the  rays  of  a  faint  wintry  moon.     I  strove  to  cry  out, — 


THE   SORROWS    OF    SATAN  117 

but  my  tongue  refused  to  obey  me — and  my  voice  was  strangled 
in  my  throat.  The  Three  remained  absokitely  motionless, — • 
and  again  I  rubbed  my  eyes,  wondering  if  this  were  a  dream 
or  some  hideous  optical  delusion.  Trembling  in  every  limb,  I 
stretched  my  hand  towards  the  bell,  intending  to  ring  violently 
for  assistance, — when — a  Voice,  low  and  thrilling  with  intense 
anguish  caused  me  to  shrink  back  appalled,  and  my  arm  fell 
nerveless  at  my  side. 

''Misery  !'' 

The  word  struck  the  air  with  a  harsh  reproachful  clang,  and 
I  nearly  swooned  with  the  horror  of  it.  For  now  one  of  the 
Figures  moved,  and  a  face  gleamed  out  from  beneath  its 
hooded  wrappings — a  face  white  as  whitest  marble  and  fixed 
into  such  an  expression  of  dreadful  despair  as  froze  ray  blood. 
Then  came  a  deep  sigh  that  was  more  like  a  death-groan,  and 
again  the  word  ''Misery  !''  shuddered  upon  the  silence  ! 

Mad  with  fear  and  scarcely  knowing  what  I  did,  I  sprang 
from  the  bed,  and  began  desperately  to  advance  upon  these 
fantastic  masqueraders,  determined  to  seize  them  and  demand 
the  meaning  of  this  practical  and  untimely  jest, — when  sud- 
denly all  three  lifted  their  heads  and  turned  their  faces  on  me, 
— such  faces  ! — indescribably  awful  in  their  pallid  agony, — and 
a  whisper  more  ghastly  than  a  shriek,  penetrated  the  very  fibres 
of  my  consciousness — "Misery  !^' 

With  a  furious  bound  I  flung  myself  upon  them, — my 
hands  struck  empty  space  !  Yet  there — distinct  as  ever — they 
stood,  glowering  down  upon  me,  while  my  clenched  fists  beat 
impotently  through  and  beyond  their  seeming  corporeal 
shapes !  And  then — all  at  once — I  became  aware  of  their 
eyes, — eyes  that  watched  me  pitilessly,  stedfastly,  and  disdain- 
fully,— eyes,  that  like  witch-fires,  seemed  to  slowly  burn  terrific 
meanings  into  my  very  flesh  and  spirit.  Convulsed  and  almost 
frantic  with  the  strain  on  my  nerves,  I  abandoned  myself  to 
despair, — this  ghastly  sight  meant  death  I  thought, — my  last 
hour  had  surely  come  !  Then — I  saw  the  lips  of  one  of  those 
dreadful  faces  move  .  .   .  some  superhuman  instinct   in  me 


ii8  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

leaped  to  life,  ...  in  some  strange  way  I  thought  I  knew,  or 
guessed  the  horror  of  what  that  next  utterance  would  be,  .  .  . 
and  with  all  my  remaining  force  I  cried  out, — 

*'  No  !  No  !  Not  that  eternal  Doom  !  Not  yet  !" 
Fighting  the  vacant  air,  I  strove  to  beat  back  those  intangi- 
ble awful  Shapes  that  loomed  above  me,  withering  up  my  soul 
with  the  fixed  stare  of  their  angry  eyes,  and  with  a  choking 
call  for  help,  I  fell,  as  it  were,  into  a  pit  of  darkness  where  I 
lay,  mercifully  unconscious. 


XI 

How  the  ensuing  hours  between  this  horrible  episode  and 
full  morning  elapsed  I  do  not  know.  I  was  dead  to  all  im- 
pressions. I  woke  at  last,  or  rather  recovered  my  senses  to 
see  the  sunlight  pouring  pleasantly  through  the  half-drawn 
curtains  at  my  window,  and  to  find  myself  in  bed  in  as  restful 
a  position  as  though  I  had  never  left  it.  Was  it  then  merely 
a  vision  I  had  seen? — a  ghastly  sort  of  nightmare?  If  so  it 
was  surely  the  most  abhorrent  illusion  ever  evolved  from  dream- 
land !  It  could  not  be  a  question  of  health,  for  I  had  never 
felt  better  in  my  life.  I  lay  for  some  time  quiescent,  thinking 
over  the  matter,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  that  part  of  the  room 
where  those  Three  Shapes  had  seemingly  stood  ;  but  I  had 
lately  got  into  such  a  habit  of  cool  self-analysis,  that  by  the 
time  my  valet  brought  my  early  cup  of  coffee,  I  had  decided 
that  the  whole  thing  was  a  dreadful  fantasy,  born  of  my  own 
imagination,  which  had  no  doubt  been  unduly  excited  by  the 
affair  of  Viscount  Lynton's  suicide.  I  soon  learned  that  there 
was  no  room  left  for  doubt  as  to  that  unhappy  young  noble- 
man's actual  death.  A  brief  account  of  it  was  in  the  morning 
papers,  though  as  the  tragedy  had  occurred  so  late  at  night, 
there  were  no  details.  A  vague  hint  of  '  money  difficulties' 
was  thrown  out  in  one  journal, — but  beyond  that,  and  the 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  119 

statement  that  the  body  had  been  conveyed  to  the  mortuary 
there  to  await  an  inquest,  there  was  nothing  said  either  per- 
sonal or  particular.  I  found  Lucio  in  the  smoking-room,  and 
it  was  he  who  first  silently  pointed  out  to  me  the  short  para- 
graph headed  '  Suicide  of  a  Viscount. ' 

'*  I  told  you  he  was  a  good  shot !"  he  commented. 

I  nodded.  Somehow  I  had  ceased  to  feel  much  interest  in 
the  subject.  My  emotion  of  the  previous  evening  had  appar- 
ently exhausted  all  my  stock  of  sympathy  and  left  me  coldly 
indifferent.  Absorbed  in  myself  and  my  own  concerns  I  sat 
down  to  talk,  and  was  not  long  before  I  had  given  a  full  and 
circumstantial  account  of  the  spectral  illusion  which  had  so 
unpleasantly  troubled  me  during  the  night.  Lucio  listened, 
smiling  oddly. 

''That  old  Tokay  was  evidently  too  strong  for  you  !' '  he 
said,  when  I  had  concluded  my  story. 

"Did  you  me  give  old  Tokay?"  I  responded  laughing — 
"  Then  the  mystery  is  explained  !  I  was  already  overwrought, 
and  needed  no  stimulant.  But  what  tricks  the  imagination 
plays  us  to  be  sure  !  You  have  no  idea  of  the  distinct 
manner  in  which  those  three  phantoms  asserted  themselves ! 
The  impression  was  extraordinarily  vivid." 

"No  doubt!"  And  his  dark  eyes  studied  me  curiously. 
"Impressions  often  are  very  vivid.  See  what  a  marvellously 
real  impression  this  world  makes  upon  us,  for  example  !" 

"Ah  !     But  then  the  world  is  real !"  I  answered. 

"Is  it?  You  accept  it  as  such,  I  daresay,  and  things  are 
as  they  appear  to  each  separate  individual.  No  two  human 
beings  think  alike ;  hence  there  may  be  conflicting  opinions 
as  to  the  reality  or  non-reality  of  this  present  world.  But 
we  will  not  take  unnecessary  plunges  into  the  infinite  ques- 
tion of  what  IS,  as  contrasted  with  what  appears  to  be.  I 
have  some  letters  here  for  your  consideration.  You  have 
lately  spoken  of  buying  a  country  estate — what  say  you  to 
Willowsmere  Court  in  Warwickshire?  I  have  had  my  eye 
on  that  place  for  you, — it  seems  to  me  just  the  very  thing. 


120  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

It  is  a  magnificent  old  pile ;  part  of  it  dates  from  Elizabeth's 
time.  It  is  in  excellent  repair,  the  grounds  are  most  pic- 
turesque ;  the  classic  river  Avon  winds  with  rather  a  broad 
sweep  through  the  park, — and  the  whole  thing,  with  a  great 
part  of  the  furniture  included,  is  to  be  sold  for  a  mere  song ; 
— fifty  thousand  pounds  cash.  I  think  you  had  better  go  in 
for  it ;  it  would  just  suit  your  literary  and  poetic  tastes." 

Was  it  my  fancy,  or  had  his  musical  voice  the  faintest  touch 
of  a  sneer  as  he  uttered  the  last  words  ?  I  would  not  allow 
myself  to  think  this  possible,  and  answered  quickly, — 

' '  Anything  you  recommend  must  be  worth  looking  at,  and 
I'll  certainly  go  and  see  it.  The  description  sounds  well,  and 
Shakespeare's  country  always  appeals  to  me.  But  wouldn't 
you  like  to  secure  it  for  yourself?" 

He  laughed. 

"  Not  I  !  I  live  nowhere  for  long.  I  am  of  a  roving  dis- 
position, and  am  never  happy  tied  down  to  one  corner  of 
the  earth.  But  I  suggest  Willowsmere  to  you  for  two  reasons, 
— first,  that  it  is  charming  and  perfectly  appointed  ;  secondly, 
that  it  will  impress  Lord  Elton  considerably  if  he  knows  you 
are  going  to  buy  it." 

*'Howso?" 

''  Why,  because  it  used  to  be  his  property" — returned  Lucio 
quietly — "till  he  got  into  the  hands  of  the  Jews.  He  gave 
them  Willowsmere  as  security  for  loans,  and  latterly  they 
have  stepped  in  as  owners.  They've  sold  most  of  the  pic- 
tures, china,  bric-a-brac  and  other  valuables.  By  the  way, 
have  you  noticed  how  the  legended  God  still  appears  to 
protect  the  house  of  Israel  ?  Particularly  the  '  base  usurer' 
who  is  allowed  to  get  the  unhappy  Christian  into  his  clutches 
nine  times  out  of  ten  ?  And  no  remedy  drops  from  heaven  ! 
The  Jew  always  triumphs.  Rather  inconsistent  isn't  it,  on 
the  part  of  an  equitable  Deity!"  His  eyes  flashed  strange 
scorn.  Anon  he  resumed — ''As  a  result  of  Lord  Elton's  un- 
fortunate speculations,  and  the  Jews'  admirable  shrewdness, 
Willowsmere,  as  I  tell  you,  is  in  the  market,  and  fifty  thou- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  121 

sand  pounds  will  make  you  the  envied  owner  of  a  place  worth 
a  hundred  thousand." 

''We  dine  at  the  Eltons*  to-night,  do  we  not?"  I  asked 
musingly, 

"  We  do.  You  cannot  have  forgotten  tliat  engagement  and 
Lady  Sibyl  so  soon  surely  !"  he  answered  laughing. 

"No,  I  have  not  forgotten" — I  said  at  last,  after  a  little 
silence.  "  And  I  will  buy  this  Willowsmere.  I  will  telegraph 
instructions  to  my  lawyers  at  once.  Will  you  give  me  the 
name  and  address  of  the  agents?" 

''  With  pleasure,  my  dear  boy  !"  And  Lucio  handed  me  a 
letter  containing  the  particulars  concerning  the  sale  of  the 
estate  and  other  items.  "But  are  you  not  making  up  your 
mind  rather  suddenly?  Hadn't  you  better  inspect  the 
property  first  ?     There  may  be  things  you  object  to ' ' 

"If  it  were  a  rat-infested  barrack,"  I  said  resolutely — "I 
would  still  buy  it !  I  shall  settle  the  matter  at  once.  I  wish 
to  let  Lord  Elton  know  this  very  night  that  I  am  the  future 
owner  of  Willowsmere  !" 

"  Good  !" — and  my  companion  thrust  his  arm  through  mine 
as  we  left  the  smoking-room  together — "  I  like  your  swiftness 
of  action,  Geoffrey.  It  is  admirable  !  I  always  respect  de- 
termination. Even  if  a  man  makes  up  his  mind  to  go  to 
hell,  I  honour  him  for  keeping  to  his  word,  and  going  there 
straight  as  a  die  ! ' ' 

I  laughed,  and  we  parted  in  high  good-humour, — he  to  fulfil 
a  club  engagement,  I  to  telegraph  precise  instructions  to  my 
legal  friends  Messrs  Bentham  and  Ellis,  for  the  immediate 
purchase  in  my  name  at  all  costs,  risks  or  inconveniences, 
of  the  estate  known  as  Willowsmere  Court  in  the  county  of 
Warwick. 

That  evening  I  dressed  with  more  than  common  care,  giving 
my  man  Morris  almost  as  much  trouble  as  if  I  had  been  a 
fidgety  woman.  He  waited  upon  me  however  with  exemplary 
patience,  and  only  when  I  was  quite  ready  did  he  venture  to 
utter  what  had  evidently  been  on  his  mind  for  some  time. 

F  II 


122  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"Excuse  me,  sir"— he  then  observed— '' but  I  daresay 
you've  noticed  that  there's  something  unpleasant-like  about 
the  prince's  valet,  Amiel  ?" 

*'  Well,  he's  rather  a  down-looking  fellow  if  that's  what  you 
mean" — I  replied — ''But  I  suppose  there's  no  harm  in  him." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,  sir" — answered  Morris  severely ; 
"  He  does  a  great  many  strange  things  I  do  assure  you. 
Downstairs  with  the  servants  he  goes  on  something  sur- 
prising. Sings  and  acts  and  dances  too  as  if  he  were  a  whole 
music-hall." 

"Really  !"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise— "I  should  never  have 
thought  it." 

"  Nor  should  I,  sir,  but  it's  a  fact." 

"  He  must  be  rather  an  amusing  fellow  then," — I  continued, 
wondering  that  my  man  should  take  the  accomplishments  of 
Amiel  in  such  an  injured  manner. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  anything  against  his  amusingness," — and 
Morris  rubbed  his  nose  with  a  doubtful  air — "It's  all  very 
well  for  him  to  cut  capers  and  make  himself  agreeable  if  he 
likes, — but  it's  the  deceit  of  him  that  surprises  me,  sir. 
You'd  think  to  look  at  him,  that  he  was  a  decent  sort  of 
dull  chap  with  no  ideas  beyond  his  duty,  but  really,  sir,  it's 
quite  the  contrary,  if  you'll  believe  me.  The  language  he 
uses  when  he's  up  to  his  games  downstairs  is  something 
frightful !  and  he  actually  swears  he  learnt  it  from  the 
gentlemen  of  the  turf,  sir !  Last  night  he  was  play  acting 
and  taking  off  all  the  fashionable  folks, — then  he  took  to  hyp- 
notising— and  upon  my  word  it  made  my  blood  run  cold." 

"Why,  what  did  he  do?"  I  asked  with  some  curiosity. 

"  Well,  sir,  he  took  one  of  the  scullery-maids  and  set  her 
in  a  chair  and  just  pointed  at  her.  Pointed  at  her  and 
grinned,  for  all  the  world  like  a  devil  out  of  a  pantomime. 
And  though  she  is  generally  a  respectable  sober  young  woman, 
if  she  didn't  get  up  with  a  screech  and  commence  dancing 
round  and  round  like  a  lunatic,  while  he  kept  on  pointing. 
And  presently  she  got  to  jumping  and  lifting  her  skirts  that 


THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN  123 

high  that  it  was  positively  scandalous  !  Some  of  us  tried 
to  stop  her  and  couldn't;  she  was  like  mad,  till  all  at  once 
number  twenty-two  bell  rang — that's  the  prince's  room, — 
and  he  just  caught  hold  of  her,  set  her  down  in  her  chair 
again,  and  clapped  his  hands.  She  came  to  directly,  and 
didn't  know  a  bit  what  she'd  been  doing.  Then  twenty- 
two  bell  rang  again,  and  the  fellow  rolled  up  his  eyes  like  a 
clergyman  and  said,  '  Let  us  pray  !'  and  off  he  went." 

I  laughed. 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  share  of  humour  at  anyrate" — I  said  ; 
"I  should  not  have  thought  it  of  him.  But  do  you  think 
these  antics  of  his  are  mischievous?" 

"  Well  that  scullery  girl  is  very  ill  to-day" — replied  Morris  ; 
"I  expect  she'll  have  to  leave.  She  has  what  she  calls  the 
'jumps'  and  none  of  us  dare  tell  her  how  she  got  them.  No 
sir,  believe  me  or  not  as  you  like,  there's  something  very 
queer  about  that  Amiel.  And  another  thing  I  want  to  know 
is  this — what  does  he  do  with  the  other  servants?" 

**  What  does  he  do  with  the  other  servants?"  I  repeated 
bewilderedly — "  What  on  earth  do  you  mean?" 

''Well  sir,  the  prince  has  a  c/ief  of  his  own  hasn't  he?" 
said  Morris  enumerating  on  his  fingers — "And  two  personal 
attendants  besides  Amiel, — quiet  fellows  enough  who  help 
in  the  waiting.  Then  he  has  a  coachman  and  groom.  That 
makes  six  servants  altogether.  Now  none  of  these  except 
Amiel  are  ever  seen  in  the  hotel  kitchens.  The  c/ief  sends 
all  the  meals  in  from  somewhere,  in  a  heated  receptacle — 
and  the  two  other  fellows  are  never  seen  except  when  waiting 
at  table,  and  they  don't  live  in  their  own  rooms  all  day  though 
they  may  sleep  there, — and  nobody  knows  where  the  carriage 
and  horses  are  put  up,  or  where  the  coachman  and  groom 
lodge.  Certain  it  is  that  both  they  and  the  c/ie/  board  out. 
It  seems  to  me  very  mysterious." 

I  began  to  feel  quite  unreasonably  irritated. 

"  Look  here,  Morris,"  I  said — "  There's  nothing  more  use- 
less or  more  harmful  than  the  habit  of  inquiring  into  other 


124  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

people's  affairs.  The  prince  has  a  right  to  live  as  he  likes, 
and  do  as  he  pleases  with  his  servants — I  am  sure  he  pays 
royally  for  his  privileges.  And  whether  his  cook  lives  in  or 
out,  up  in  the  skies  or  down  in  a  cellar,  is  no  matter  of  mine. 
He  has  been  a  great  traveller,  and  no  doubt  has  his  pecu- 
liarities ;  and  probably  his  notions  concerning  food  are  very 
particular  and  fastidious.  But  I  don't  want  to  know  any- 
thing about  his  menage.  If  you  dislike  Amiel,  it's  easy  to 
avoid  him,  but  for  goodness'  sake  don't  go  making  mysteries 
where  none  exist." 

Morris  looked  up,  then  down,  and  folded  one  of  my  coats 
with  special  care.  I  saw  I  had  effectually  checked  his  flow  of 
confidence. 

^'  Very  well,  sir," — he  observed,  and  said  no  more. 

I  was  rather  diverted  than  otherwise  at  my  servant's  solemn 
account  of  Amiel' s  peculiarities  as  exhibited  among  his  own 
class,— and  when  we  were  driving  to  Lord  Elton's  that  evening 
I  told  something  of  the  story  to  Lucio.     He  laughed. 

"  Amiel' s  spirits  are  often  too  much  for  him" — he  said — 
'*  He  is  a  perfect  imp  of  mischief  and  cannot  always  control 
himself." 

"  Why,  what  a  wrong  estimate  I  have  formed  of  him  !"  I 
said — ''I  thought  he  had  a  peculiarly  grave  and  somewhat 
sullen  disposition." 

''You  know  the  trite  saying — appearances  are  deceptive?" 
went  on  my  companion  lightly — "It's  extremely  true.  The 
professed  humourist  is  nearly  always  a  disagreeable  and 
heavy  man  personally.  As  for  Amiel,  he  is  like  me  in  the 
respect  of  not  being  at  all  what  he  seems.  His  only  fault  is 
a  tendency  to  break  the  bounds  of  discipline,  but  otherwise 
he  serves  me  well,  and  I  do  not  inquire  further.  Is  Morris 
disgusted  or  alarmed?" 

''Neither  I  think,"  I  responded  laughing— "  He  merely 
presents  himself  to  me  as  an  example  of  outraged  respect- 
ability." 

"Ah  then,  you  may  be  sure  that  when  the  scullery-maid 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  125 

was  dancing,  he  observed  her  steps  with  the  closest  nicety," 
said  Lucio.  *'  Very  respectable  men  are  always  particular  of 
inspection  into  these  matters  !  Soothe  his  ruffled  feelings, 
my  dear  Geoffrey,  and  tell  him  that  Amiel  is  the  very  soul 
of  virtue  !  I  have  had  him  in  my  service  for  a  long  time, 
and  can  urge  nothing  against  his  character  as  a  man.  He 
does  not  pretend  to  be  an  angel.  His  tricks  of  speech  and 
behaviour  are  the  result  of  a  too  constant  repression  of  his 
natural  hilarity,  but  he  is  really  an  excellent  fellow.  He 
dabbled  in  hypnotic  science  when  he  was  with  me  in  India ; 
I  have  often  warned  him  of  the  danger  there  is  in  practising 
this  force  on  the  uninitiated.  But — a  scullery-maid ! — 
heavens,  there  are  so  many  scullery-maids  !  One  more  or 
less  with  the  'jumps'  will  not  matter.     This  is  Lord  Elton's." 

The  carriage  stopped  before  a  handsome  house  situated  a 
little  back  from  Park  Lane.  We  were  admitted  by  a  man- 
servant gorgeous  in  red  plush,  white  silk  hose,  and  powdered 
wig,  who  passed  us  on  majestically  to  his  twin-brother  in 
height  and  appearance,  though  perhaps  a  trifle  more  disdain- 
ful in  bearing,  and  he  in  his  turn  ushered  us  upstairs  with  the 
air  of  one  who  should  say,  ^'  See  to  what  ignominious  degrada- 
tion a  cruel  fate  reduces  so  great  a  man  !"  In  the  drawing- 
room  we  found  Lord  Elton,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  and  directly  opposite  him,  in  a  low  arm- 
chair, reclined  an  elegantly  attired  young  lady  with  very  small 
feet.  I  mention  the  feet  because  as  I  entered  they  were  the 
most  prominent  part  of  her  person,  being  well  stretched  out 
from  beneath  the  would-be  concealment  of  sundry  flounced 
petticoats  towards  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  which  the  Earl 
rather  inconsiderately  screened  from  view.  There  was  another 
lady  in  the  room  sitting  bolt  upright  with  hands  neatly  folded 
on  her  lap,  and  to  her  we  were  first  of  all  introduced  when 
Lord  Elton's  own  effusive  greetings  were  over. 

"  Charlotte,  allow  me, — my  friends,  Prince  Lucio  Rimanez  ; 
Mr  Geoffrey  Tempest ;  gentlemen,  my  &ister-in-law,  Miss 
Charlotte  Fitzroy." 

II* 


126  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

We  bowed ;  the  lady  gave  us  a  dignified  bend  of  the  head. 
She  was  an  imposing  looking  spinster,  with  a  curious  expres- 
sion on  her  features  which  was  difficult  to  construe.  It  was 
pious  and  prim  ;  but  it  also  suggested  the  idea  that  she  must 
have  seen  something  excessively  improper  once  in  her  life  and 
had  never  been  able  to  forget  it.  The  pursed-up  mouth,  the 
round  pale-coloured  eyes  and  the  chronic  air  of  insulted  virtue 
which  seemed  to  pervade  her  from  head  to  foot  all  helped  to 
deepen  this  impression.  One  could  not  look  at  Miss  Charlotte 
long  without  beginning  to  wonder  irreverently  what  it  was  that 
had,  in  her  long  past  youth,  so  outraged  the  cleanly  proprieties 
of  her  nature  as  to  leave  such  indelible  traces  on  her  counte- 
nance. But  I  have  since  seen  many  English  AvomCn  look  so, 
especially  among  the  particularly  *  high  bred,'  old  and  plain- 
featured  of  the  ''upper  ten."  Very  different  was  the  saucy 
and  bright  physiognomy  of  the  younger  lady  to  whom  we 
were  next  presented,  and  who,  raising  herself  languidly  from 
her  reclining  position,  smiled  at  us  with  encouraging  famili- 
arity as  we  made  our  salutations. 

"Miss  Diana  Chesney,"  said  the  Earl  glibly.  ''You  per- 
haps know  her  father,  prince, — you  must  have  heard  of  him 
at  any  rate, — the  famous  Nicodemus  Chesney,  one  of  the  great 
railway-kings." 

"Of  course  I  kn  ow  him, ' '  responded  Lucio  warmly.  ' '  Who 
does  not  !  I  have  met  him  often.  A  charming  man,  gifted 
with  most  remarkable  humour  and  vitality, — I  remember  him 
perfectly.  We  saw  a  good  deal  of  each  other  in  Washing- 
ton." 

"Did  you,  though?"  said  Miss  Chesney  with  a  somewhat 
indifferent  interest.  "  He's  a  queer  sort  of  man  to  my  think- 
ing; rather  a  cross  between  the  ticket-collector  and  custom- 
house officer  combined,  you  know  !  I  never  see  him  but 
what  I  feel  I  must  start  on  a  journey  directly — railways  seem 
to  be  written  all  over  him.  I  tell  him  so.  I  say,  '  Pa,  if  you 
didn't  carry  railway-tracks  in  your  face  you'd  be  better  look- 
ing.'    And  you  found  him  humorous,  did  you?" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  127 

Laughing  at  the  novel  and  free  way  in  which  this  young 
person  criticised  her  parent,  Lucio  protested  that  he  did. 

*'  Well  I  don't,"  confessed  Miss  Chesney:  ''  But  that  may 
be  because  I've  heard  all  his  stories  over  and  over  again,  and 
I've  read  most  of  them  in  books  besides, — so  they're  not 
much  account  to  me.  He  tells  some  of  them  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales  whenever  he  can  get  a  chance, — but  he  don't  try  them 
off  on  me  any  more.  He's  a  real  clever  man  too  ;  he's  made 
his  pile  quicker  than  most.  And  you're  quite  right  about  his 
vitality, — my  ! — his  laugh  takes  you  into  the  middle  of  next 
week!" 

Her  bright  eyes  flashed  merrily  as  she  took  a  comprehen- 
sive survey  of  our, amused  faces. 

"Think  I'm  irreverent,  don't  you?"  she  went  on.  ''But 
you  know  Pa's  not  a  'stage  parent,'  all  dressed  out  in  lovely 
white  hair  and  benedictions, — he's  just  an  accommodating 
railway-track,  and  he  wouldn't  like  to  be  reverenced.  Do 
sit  down,  won't  you?"  Then  turning  her  pretty  head  coquet- 
tishly  towards  her  host, — "  Make  them  sit  down.  Lord  Elton, 
— I  hate  to  see  men  standing.  The  superior  sex  you  know ! 
Besides,  you're  so  tall,"  she  added,  glancing  with  unconcealed 
admiration  at  Lucio's  handsome  face  and  figure,  "that  it's 
like  peering  up  an  apple-tree  at  the  moon  to  look  at  you  !" 

Lucio  laughed  heartily  and  seated  himself  near  her ;  I  fol- 
lowed his  example ;  the  old  Earl  still  kept  his  position,  legs 
a-straddle,  on  the  hearth-rug,  and  beamed  benevolence  upon 
us  all.  Certainly  Diana  Chesney  was  a  captivating  creature; 
one  of  those  surface-clever  American  women  who  distinctly 
divert  men's  minds,  without  in  the  least  rousing  their  passions. 

"So  you're  the  famous  Mr  Tempest?"  she  said,  surveying 
me  critically.  "Why,  it's  simply  splendid  for  you,  isn't  it? 
I  always  say  it's  no  use  having  a  heap  of  money  unless  you're 
young, — if  you're  old,  you  only  want  it  to  fill  your  doctor's 
pockets  while  he  tries  to  mend  your  tuckered-out  constitu- 
tion. I  once  knew  an  old  lady  who  was  left  a  legacy  of  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds  when  she  was   ninety-five.     Poor 


128  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

old  dear,  she  cried  over  it.  She  just  had  sense  enough  to 
understand  what  a  good  time  she  couldn't  have.  She  lived 
in  bed,  and  her  only  luxury  was  a  halfpenny  bun  dipped  in 
milk  for  her  tea.     It  was  all  she  cared  for. ' ' 

"A  hundred  thousand  pounds  would  go  a  long  way  in 
buns  !"  I  said  smiling. 

''  Wouldn't  it  just !"  and  the  fair  Diana  laughed.  ''  But  I 
guess  jw/// want  something  a  little  more  substantial  for  your 
cash,  Mr  Tempest.  A  fortune  in  the  prime  of  life  is  worth 
having.  I  suppose  you're  one  of  the  richest  men  about  just 
now,  aren't  you?" 

She  put  the  question  in  a  perfectly  naive  frank  manner,  and 
seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  any  undue  inquisitiveness  in  it. 

''I  may  be  one  of  the  richest,"  I  replied,  and  as  I  spoke 
the  thought  flashed  suddenly  across  me  how  recently  I  had 
been  one  of  the  poorest ! — ''but  my  friend  here,  the  prince, 
is  far  richer  than  I." 

''Is  that  so!"  and  she  stared  straight  at  Lucio,  who  met 
her  gaze  with  an  indulgent,  half  satirical  smile.  "  Well  now  ! 
I  guess  Pa's  no  better  than  a  sort  of  pauper  after  all !  Why, 
you  must  have  the  world  at  your  feet  ! ' ' 

"  Pretty  much  so,"  replied  Lucio  composedly.  "  But  then, 
my  dear  Miss  Chesney,  the  world  is  so  very  easily  brought  to 
one's  feet.     Surely,  you  know  that?" 

And  he  emphasized  the  words  by  an  expressive  look  of  his 
fine  eyes. 

"I  guess  you  mean  compliments,"  she  replied  unconcern- 
edly. "  I  don't  like  them  as  a  rule,  but  I'll  forgive  you  this 
once !" 

"Do!"  said  Lucio  with  one  of  his  dazzling  smiles  that 
caused  her  to  stop  for  a  moment  in  her  voluble  chatter,  and 
observe  him  with  mingled  fascination  and  wonderment. 

"And  you  too  are  young,  like  Mr  Tempest,"  she  re- 
sumed presently. 

"Pardon  me!"  interrupted  Lucio;  "I  am  many  years 
older." 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  129 

''Really!"  exclaimed  Lord  Elton  at  this  juncture.  ''You 
don't  look  it, — does  he,  Charlotte?" 

Miss  Fitzroy,  thus  appealed  to,  raised  her  elegant  tortoise- 
shell-framed  glasses  to  her  eyes  and  peered  critically  at  us 
both. 

"  I  should  imagine  the  prince  to  be  slightly  the  senior  of 
Mr  Tempest,"  she  remarked  in  precise,  high-bred  accents, 
— "but  only  very  slightly." 

"'Anyhow,"  resumed  Miss  Chesney,  "  you're  young  enough 
to  enjoy  your  wealth,  aren't  you?" 

"Young  enough,  or  old  enough, — ^just  as  you  please," 
said  Lucio  with  a  careless  shrug.  "  But,  as  it  happens,  I  do 
not  enjoy  it." 

Miss  Chesney's  whole  aspect  now  expressed  the  most  lively 
astonishment. 

"  What  does  money  do  for  you?"  went  on  Lucio,  his  eyes 
dilating  with  that  strange  and  wistful  expression  which  had 
often  excited  my  curiosity.  "The  world  is  at  your  feet, 
perhaps  ;  yes — but  what  a  world  !  What  a  trumpery  clod  of 
kickable  matter  !  Wealth  acts  merely  as  a  kind  of  mirror  to 
show  you  human  nature  at  its  worst.  Men  skulk  and  fawn 
about  you,  and  lie  twenty  times  in  as  many  hours,  in  the  hope 
to  propitiate  you  and  serve  their  own  interests  ;  the  princes  of 
the  blood  willingly  degrade  themselves  and  their  position  to 
borrow  cash  of  you, — your  intrinsic  merit  (if  you  have  any) 
is  thought  nothing  of, — your  full  pockets  are  your  credentials 
with  kings,  prime  ministers  and  councillors.  You  may  talk 
like  a  fool,  laugh  like  a  hyena  and  look  like  a  baboon,  but  if 
the  chink-chink  of  your  gold  be  only  sufficiently  loud,  you 
may  soon  find  yourself  dining  with  the  Queen  if  such  be  your 
ambition.  If,  on  the  contrary  you  happen  to  be  truly  great, 
brave,  patient,  and  enduring,  with  a  spark  in  you  of  that 
genius  which  strengthens  life  and  makes  it  better  worth  living, 
— if  you  have  thoughts  which  take  shape  in  work  that  shall 
endure  when  kingdoms  are  swept  away  like  dust  before  the 
wind, — and  if,  with  all  this  you  are  yet  poor  in  current  coin, 


I30  THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

— why  then,  you  shall  be  spurned  by  all  the  crowned  dummies 
of  the  world, — you  shall  be  snubbed  by  the  affluent  starch- 
maker,  and  the  Croesus  who  lives  on  a  patent  pill,— the  trades- 
man from  whom  you  buy  bedsteads  and  kitchen  ware  can  look 
down  upon  you  with  lordly  scorn,  for  does  he  not,  by  virtue  of 
his  wealth  alone,  drive  a  four-in-hand,  and  chat  on  easy  and 
almost  patronizing  terms  with  the  Prince  of  Wales  ?  The 
wealthy  denizens  of  Snob  land  delight  in  ignoring  Nature's 
elected  noblemen." 

''But  supposing,"  said  Miss  Chesney  quickly,  ''you  hap- 
pen to  be  a  Nature's  nobleman  yourself,  and  have  the  advantage 
of  wealth  besides,  surely  you  must  fairly  allow  that  to  be 
rather  a  good  thing,  mustn't  you?" 

Lucio  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  will  retort  upon  you  in  your  own  words,  fair  lady,  and 
say,  '  I  guess  you  mean  compliments. '  What  I  venture  to 
imply,  however,  is  that  even  when  wealth  does  fall  to  the  lot 
of  one  of  these  'Nature's  noblemen,'  it  is  not  because  of  his 
innate  nobility  that  he  wins  social  distinction.  It  is  simply 
because  he  is  rich.  That  is  what  vexes  me.  I,  for  example, 
have  endless  friends  who  are  not  my  friends  so  much  as  the 
friends  of  my  income.  They  do  not  trouble  to  inquire  as  to 
my  antecedents, — what  I  am,  or  where  I  came  from,  is  of  no 
importance.  Neither  are  they  concerned  in  how  I  live  or  what 
I  do ;  whether  I  am  sick  or  well,  happy  or  unhappy,  is  equally 
with  them  a  matter  of  indifference.  If  they  knew  more  about 
me,  it  would  perhaps  be  better  in  the  long  run.  But  they  do 
not  want  to  know, — their  aims  are  simple  and  unconcealed, — 
they  wish  to  make  as  much  out  of  me,  and  secure  as  much  ad- 
vantage to  themselves  by  their  acquaintance  with  me  as  pos- 
sible. And  I  give  them  their  full  way, — they  get  all  they 
want, — and  more  !" 

His  musical  voice  lingered  with  a  curiously  melancholy  im- 
pressiveness  on  the  last  word, — and  this  time,  not  only  Miss 
Chesney,  but  we  all,  looked  at  him  as  though  drawn  by  some 
irresistible  magnetic  spell,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  silence. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  131 

"Very  few  people  have  any  real  friends,"  said  Lord  Elton 
presently.  "And  in  that  respect  I  suppose  we're  none  of  us 
worse  off  than  Socrates,  who  used  to  keep  two  chairs  only  in 
his  house, — *  one  for  myself  and  another  for  a  friend — when  I 
find  him  !'  But  you  are  a  universal  favourite,  Lucio, — a  most 
popular  fellow, — and  I  think  you're  rather  hard  on  your  set. 
People  must  look  after  themselves  you  know — eh?" 

Lucio  bowed  his  head  gravely. 

"  They  must  indeed,"  he  replied  ;  "  especially  as  the  latest 
news  of  science  is  that  God  has  given  up  the  business." 

Miss  Fitzroy  looked  displeased,  but  the  Earl  laughed  up- 
roariously. At  that  moment  a  step  was  heard  outside,  ap- 
proaching the  open  doorway  of  the  drawing-room,  and  Miss 
Chesney's  quick  ears  caught  the  sound.  She  shook  herself 
out  of  her  reclining  attitude  instantly  and  sat  erect, 

"It's  Sibyl !"  she  said  with  a  half-laughing,  half- apologetic 
flash  of  her  brown  eyes  at  us  all.  "I  never  can  loll  before 
Sibyl." 

My  heart  beat  fast,  as  the  woman  whom  poets  might  have 
called  the  goddess  of  their  dreams,  but  whom  I  was  now  dis- 
posed to  consider  as  an  object  of  beauty  lawfully  open  to  my 
purchase,  entered,  clad  in  simple  white,  unrelieved  by  any 
ornaments  save  a  golden  waistbelt  of  antique  workmanship, 
and  a  knot  of  violets  nestled  among  the  lace  at  her  bosom. 
She  looked  far  lovelier  than  when  I  had  first  seen  her  at  the 
theatre ;  there  was  a  deeper  light  in  her  eyes  and  a  more 
roseate  flush  on  her  cheeks,  while  her  smile  as  she  greeted  us 
was  positively  dazzling.  Something  in  her  presence,  her 
movements,  her  manner,  sent  such  a  tide  of  passion  through 
me  that  for  a  moment  my  brain  whirled  in  a  dizzy  maze,  and 
despite  the  cold  calculations  I  had  made  in  my  own  mind  as 
to  the  certainty  I  had  of  winning  her  for  my  wife,  there  was  a 
wondrous  charm  of  delicate  dignity  and  unapproachableness 
about  her  that  caused  me  for  the  moment  to  feel  ashamed, 
and  inclined  to  doubt  even  the  power  of  wealth  to  move  this 
exquisite   lily  of  maidenhood   from   her  sequestered   peace. 


132  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

Ah,  what  fools  men  are  !  How  little  do  we  dream  of  the 
canker  at  the  hearts  of  these  women  '  lilies'  that  look  so  pure 
and  full  of  grace  ! 

* '  You  are  late,  Sibyl  ! ' '  said  her  aunt  severely. 

''  Am  I?"  she  responded  with  languid  indifference.  "  So 
sorry  !     Papa,  are  you  an  extemporized  fire-screen  ?' ' 

Lord  Elton  hastily  moved  to  one  side,  rendered  suddenly 
conscious  of  his  selfish  monopoly  of  the  blaze. 

''Are  you  not  cold  Miss  Chesney?"  continued  Lady  Sibyl 
in  accents  of  studied  courtesy.  ''Would  you  not  like  to  come 
nearer  the  fire?" 

Diana  Chesney  had  become  quite  subdued,  almost  timid  in 
fact. 

"  Thank  you  !"  she  murmured,  and  her  eyes  dropped  with 
what  might  have  been  called  retiring  maiden  modesty,  had 
not  Miss  Chesney's  qualities  soared  far  beyond  that  trite  de- 
scription. 

"  We  heard  some  shocking  news  this  morning,  Mr  Tempest," 
said  Lady  Sibyl,  looking  at  Lucio  rather  than  at  me.  "  No 
doubt  you  read  it  in  the  papers :  an  acquaintance  of  ours, 
Viscount  Lynton,  shot  himself  last  night." 

I  could  not  repress  a  slight  start.  Lucio  gave  me  a  warning 
glance,  and  took  it  upon  himself  to  reply. 

"  Yes,  I  read  a  brief  account  of  the  affair — terrible  indeed  ! 
I  also  knew  him  slightly." 

"  Did  you?  Well,  he  was  engaged  to  a  friend  of  mine," 
went  on  Lady  Sibyl.  "I  myself  think  she  has  had  a  lucky 
escape,  because  though  he  was  an  agreeable  man  enough  in 
society,  he  was  a  great  gambler,  and  very  extravagant,  and  he 
would  have  run  through  her  fortune  very  quickly.  But  she 
cannot  be  brought  to  see  it  in  that  light, — she  is  dreadfully 
upset.     She  had  set  her  heart  on  being  a  Viscountess." 

"I  guess,"  said  Miss  Chesney  demurely,  with  a  sly  sparkle 
of  her  eyes,  "it's  not  only  Americans  who  run  after  titles. 
Since  I've  been  over  here  I've  known  several  real  nice  girls 
marry  downright  mean  dough-heads  just  for  the  sake  of  being 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  133 

called  '  my  lady'  or  '  your  grace. '  I  like  a  title  very  well 
myself — but  I  also  like  a  man  attached  to  it. ' ' 

The  Earl  smothered  a  chuckling  laugh.  Lady  Sibyl  gazed 
meditatively  into  the  fire,  and  went  on  as  though  she  had  not 
heard. 

"Of  course  my  friend  will  have  other  chances, — she  is 
young  and  handsome ;  but  I  really  think,  apart  from  the 
social  point  of  view,  that  she  was  a  little  in  love  with  the 
Viscount " 

"  Nonsense  !  nonsense  !"  said  her  father  somewhat  testily  ; 
"  you  always  have  some  romantic  notion  or  other  in  your  head, 
Sibyl, — one  ^season'  ought  to  have  cured  you  of  sentiment 
— ha-ha-ha  !  She  always  knew  he  was  a  dissolute  rascal,  and 
she  was  going  to  marry  him  with  her  eyes  wide  open  to  the 
fact.  When  I  read  in  the  papers  that  he  had  blown  his  brains 
out  in  a  hansom,  I  said,  '  Bad  taste,  bad  taste  !  spoiling  a 
poor  cabby's  stock-in-trade  to  satisfy  a  selfish  whim  !'  ha-ha  ! 
but  I  thought  it  was  a  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish.  He 
would  have  made  any  woman's  life  utterly  miserable." 

*' No  doubt  he  would!"  responded  Lady  Sibyl  listlessly. 
*'  But,  all  the  same,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  love  sometimes." 
She  raised  her  beautiful  liquid  eyes  to  Lucio's  face,  but  he 
was  not  looking  her  way,  and  her  stedfast  gaze  met  mine 
instead.  What  my  looks  expressed  I  know  not ;  but  I  saw 
the  rich  blood  mantle  warmly  in  her  cheeks,  and  a  tremor 
seemed  to  pass  through  her  frame, — then  she  grew  very  pale. 
At  that  moment  one  of  the  gorgeous  footmen  appeared  at  the 
doorway. 

''  Dinner  is  served,  my  lud." 

"  Good  !"  and  the  Earl  proceeded  to  '  pair'  us  all.  ^'  Prince, 
will  you  take  Miss  Fitzroy, — Mr  Tempest,  my  daughter  falls 
to  your  escort, — I  will  follow  with  Miss  Chesney." 

We  set  off  in  this  order  down  the  stairs,  and  as  I  walked 
behind  Lucio  with  Lady  Sibyl  on  my  arm,  I  could  not  help 
smiling  at  the  extreme  gravity  and  earnestness  with  which 
he  was  discussing  church  matters  with  Miss  Charlotte,  and 


134  THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

the  sudden  enthusiasm  that  apparently  seized  that  dignified 
spinster  at  some  of  his  remarks  on  the  clergy,  which  took  the 
form  of  the  most  affectionate  and  respectful  eulogies,  and  were 
totally  the  reverse  of  the  ideas  he  had  exchanged  with  me  on 
the  same  subject.  Some  spirit  of  mischief  was  evidently 
moving  him  to  have  a  solemn  joke  with  the  high-bred  lady 
he  escorted,  and  I  noted  his  behaviour  with  a  good  deal  of 
inward  amusement. 

*'  Then  you  know  the  dear  Canon  ?"  I  heard  Miss  Charlotte 
say. 

''Most  intimately!"  replied  Lucio  with  fervour;  ''and  I 
assure  you  I  am  thankful  to  have  the  privilege  of  knowing 
him.     A  truly  perfect  man  ! — almost  a  saint — if  not  quite  !" 

"  So  pure-minded  !"  sighed  the  spinster. 

"  So  free  from  every  taint  of  hypocrisy  !"  murmured  Lucio 
with  intense  gravity. 

"Ah,  yes  !     Yes,  indeed  !     And  so " 

Here  they  passed  into  the  dining-room  and  I  could  hear 
no  more.  I  followed  with  my  beautiful  partner,  and  in  another 
minute  we  were  all  seated  at  table. 


XII 

The  dinner  went  on  in  the  fashion  of  most  dinners  at  great 
houses, — commencing  with  arctic  stiffness  and  formality,  thaw- 
ing slightly  towards  the  middle  course,  and  attaining  to  just  a 
pleasant  warmth  of  mutual  understanding  when  ices  and  des- 
sert give  warning  of  its  approaching  close.  Conversation  at 
first  flagged  unaccountably,  but  afterwards  brightened  under 
Lucio's  influence  to  a  certain  gaiety.  I  did  my  best  to  enter- 
tain Lady  Sibyl,  but  found  her  like  most  '  society'  beauties, 
somewhat  of  a  vague  listener.  She  was  certainly  cold,  and 
in  a  manner  irresponsive, — moreover,  I  soon  decided  that  she 
was  not  particularly  clever.     She  had  not  the  art  of  sustaining 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  135 

or  appearing  to  sustain  interest  in  any  one  subject ;  on  the 
contrary,  she  had,  like  many  of  her  class,  an  irritating  habit 
of  mentally  drifting  away  from  you  into  an  absorbed  reverie 
of  her  own  in  which  you  had  no  part,  and  which  plainly 
showed  you  how  little  she  cared  for  anything  you  or  anyone 
else  happened  to  be  saying.  Many  little  random  remarks  of 
hers,  however,  implied  that  in  her  apparently  sweet  nature  there 
lurked  a  vein  of  cynicism  and  a  certain  contempt  for  men, 
and  more  than  once  her  light  words  stung  my  sense  of  self- 
love  almost  to  resentment,  while  they  strengthened  the  force 
of  my  resolve  to  win  her  and  bend  that  proud  spirit  of  hers 
to  the  meekness  befitting  the  wife  of  a  millionaire  and — a 
genius.  A  genius  ?  Yes, — God  help  me  ! — that  is  what  I 
judged  myself  to  be.  My  arrogance  was  two-fold, — it  arose 
not  only  from  what  I  imagined  to  be  my  quality  of  brain,  but 
also  from  the  knowledge  of  what  my  wealth  could  do.  I  was 
perfectly  positive  that  I  could  buy  Fame,  — buy  it  as  easily  as 
one  buys  a  flower  in  the  market, — and  I  was  more  than 
positive  that  I  could  buy  love.  In  order  to  commence 
proving  the  truth  of  this,  I  threw  out  a  *  feeler'  towards  my 
object. 

''I  believe,"  I  said  suddenly,  addressing  the  Earl,  ''you 
used  to  live  in  Warwickshire,  at  Willowsmere  Court,  did  you 
not?" 

Lord  Elton  flushed  an  apoplectic  red  and  swallowed  a  gulp 
of  champagne  hastily. 

"  Yes-er-yes.  I — er  had  the  place  for  some  time, — rather  a 
bore  to  keep  up, — wants  quite  an  army  of  servants." 

''Just  so,  "  I  replied  with  a  nod  of  appreciative  compre- 
hension. "  I  presume  it  will  require  a  considerable  domestic 
retinue.     I  have  just  arranged  to  purchase  it." 

Lady  Sibyl's  frigid  composure  was  at  last  disturbed, — she 
looked  strangely  agitated, — and  the  Earl  stared  till  his  eyes 
seemed  likely  to  fall  out  of  his  head. 

"You?  You  are  going  to  buy  Willowsmere?"  he  ejacu- 
lated. 


136  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

*'  Yes.  I  have  wired  to  my  lawyers  to  settle  the  matter  as 
quickly  as  possible," — and  I  glanced  at  Lucio,  whose  steel- 
bright  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Earl  with  curious  intentness. 
"I  like  Warwickshire, — and  as  I  shall  entertain  a  great  deal, 
I  think  the  place  will  suit  me  perfectly." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Miss  Charlotte  Fitzroy 
sighed  deeply,  and  the  lace  bow  on  her  severely  parted  hair 
trembled  visibly.  Diana  Chesney  looked  up  with  inquisitive 
eyes  and  a  little  wondering  smile. 

''Sibyl  was  born  at  Willowsmere,"  said  the  Earl  presently 
in  rather  a  husky  voice. 

''Anew  charm  is  added  to  its  possession  by  that  know- 
ledge," I  said  gently,  bowing  to  Lady  Sibyl  as  I  spoke. 
"Have  you  many  recollections  of  the  place?" 

"Indeed,  indeed  I  have!"  she  answered  with  a  touch  of 
something  like  passion  vibrating  in  her  accents.  "There  is 
no  corner  of  the  world  I  love  so  well  !  I  used  to  play  on  the 
lawns  under  the  old  oak-trees,  and  I  always  gathered  the 
first  violets  and  primroses  that  came  out  on  the  banks  of  the 
Avon.  And  when  the  hawthorn  was  in  full  flower  I  used  to 
make  believe  that  the  park  was  fairyland  and  I  the  fairy 
queen " 

' '  As  you  were  and  are  ! ' '  interposed  Lucio  suddenly. 

She  smiled  and  her  eyes  flashed, — then  she  went  on  more 
quietly — 

"  It  was  all  very  foolish,  but  I  loved  Willowsmere,  and  love 
it  still.  And  I  often  saw  in  the  fields  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  which  did  not  belong  to  the  estate,  a  little  girl 
about  my  own  age,  playing  all  by  herself  and  making  long 
daisy-chains  and  buttercup  balls, — a  little  girl  with  long  fair 
curls  and  a  sweet  baby  face.  I  wanted  to  know  her  and  speak 
to  her,  but  my  nurse  would  never  let  me  because  she  was 
supposed  to  be  'beneath'  me."  Lady  Sibyl's  lip  curled 
scornfully  at  this  recollection.  "  Yet  she  was  well-born  ;  she 
was  the  orphan  child  of  a  very  distinguished  scholar  and 
gentleman,    and   had    been    adopted   by   the   physician   who 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


137 


attended  her  mother's  deathbed,  she  having  no  living  rela- 
tives left  to  take  care  of  her.  And  she — that  little  fair-haired 
girl — was  Mavis  Clare." 

As  this  name  was  uttered,  a  sort  of  hush  fell  on  our  party 
as  though  an  'Angelus'  had  rung, — and  Lucio,  looking  across 
at  me  with  peculiar  intentness,  asked — 

''  Have  you  never  heard  of  Mavis  Clare,  Tempest?" 

I  thought  a  moment  before  replying.  Yes,  I  had  heard 
the  name, — connected  with  literature  in  some  dim  and  dis- 
tant way,  but  I  could  not  remember  when  or  how.  For  I 
never  paid  any  attention  to  the  names  of  women  who  chose 
to  associate  themselves  with  the  Arts,  as  I  had  the  usual  mas- 
culine notion  that  all  they  did,  whether  in  painting,  music  or 
writing,  must  of  necessity  be  trash,  and  unworthy  of  com- 
ment. Women,  I  loftily  considered,  were  created  to  amuse 
men, — not  to  instruct  them. 

"Mavis  Clare  is  a  marvellous  genius,"  Lady  Sibyl  said 
presently.  ''  If  Mr  Tempest  has  not  heard  of  her,  there  is  no 
doubt  he  luill  hear.  I  often  regret  that  I  never  made  her 
acquaintance  in  those  old  days  at  Willowsmere, — the  stupidity 
of  my  nurse  often  rankles  in  my  mind.  *  Beneath  me' — 
indeed  ! — and  how  very  much  she  is  above  me  now  !  She 
still  lives  down  there, — her  adopted  parents  are  dead,  and 
she  rents  the  lovely  little  house  they  inhabited.  She  has 
bought  some  extra  land  about  it  and  improved  the  place  won- 
derfully. Indeed  I  have  never  seen  a  more  ideal  poet's  corner 
than  Lily  Cottage." 

I  was  silent,  feeling  somewhat  in  the  background  on  ac- 
count of  my  ignorance  as  to  the  gifts  and  the  position  of  the 
individual  they  all  seemed  to  recognise  as  a  celebrity  of 
importance. 

''Rather  an  odd  name,  Mavis,  isn't  it?"  I  at  last  ventured 
to  observe. 

"Yes, — but  it  suits  her  wonderfully.  She  sings  quite  as 
sweetly  as  any  thrush,  so  she  merits  her  designation." 

"What  has  she  done  in  literature?"  I  continued. 

12* 


138  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"■  Oh, — only  a  novel !"  replied  Liicio  with  a  smile.  *'  But 
it  has  a  quality  unusual  to  novels  ;  it  lives.  I  hope,  Tempest, 
that  your  forthcoming  work  will  enjoy  the  same  vitality." 

Here  Lord  Elton,  who  had  been  more  or  less  brooding  darkly 
over  his  glass  of  wine  ever  since  I  had  mentioned  my  purchase 
of  Willowsmere,  roused  himself  from  his  reverie. 

''Why,  God  bless  my  soul  !"  he  exclaimed.  ''You  don't 
mean  to  tell  me  you  have  written  a  novel,  Mr  Tempest  ?" 
(Was  it  possible  he  had  never  noticed  all  the  prominent  adver- 
tisements of  my  book  in  every  paper,  I  thought  indignantly  !) 
"What  do  you  want  to  do  that  for,  with  your  immense 
position  ?' ' 

"He  hankers  after  fame!"  said  Lucio  half  kindly,  half 
satirically. 

"But  you've  got  fame!"  declared  the  Earl,  emphatically. 
"  Everybody  knows  who  you  are  by  this  time." 

"Ah,  my  dear  lord,  that  is  not  enough  for  the  aspirations 
of  my  gifted  friend,"  responded  Lucio,  speaking  for  me,  his 
eyes  darkening  with  that  mystic  shadow  of  mingled  sorrow 
and  scorn  which  so  frequently  clouded  their  lustrous  brilliancy. 
"He  does  not  particularly  care  for  the  'immense  position' 
that  is  due  to  wealth  alone,  because  that  does  not  lift  him  a 
jot  higher  than  Maple  of  Tottenham  Court  Eoad.  He  seeks 
to  soar  beyond  the  furniture  man, — and  who  shall  blame  him? 
He  would  be  known  for  that  indescribable  quality  called 
Genius,— for  high  thoughts,  poetry,  divine  instincts,  and  pro- 
phetic probings  into  the  heart  of  humanity, — in  short,  for  the 
power  of  the  Pen  which  topples  down  great  kingdoms  like 
card-houses  and  sticks  foolscaps  on  the  heads  of  kings.  Gen- 
erally it  is  the  moneyless  man  or  woman  who  is  endowed  with 
this  unpurchasable  power, — this  independence  of  action  and 
indifference  to  opinion, — the  wealthy  seldom  do  anything 
but  spend  or  hoard.  But  Tempest  means  to  unite  for  once 
in  his  own  person  the  two  most  strenuously  opposed  forces 
in  nature, — genius  and  cash, — or,  in  other  words,  God  and 
Mammon." 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  139 

Lady  Sibyl  turned  her  head  towards  me ; — there  was  a  look 
of  doubt  and  wonder  on  her  beautiful  face. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  said  half  smiling,  ''  that  the  claims  of 
society  will  take  up  too  much  of  your  time,  Mr  Tempest,  to 
allow  you  to  continue  the  writing  of  books.  I  remember  you 
told  me  the  other  evening  that  you  were  about  to  publish  a 
novel.  I  suppose  you  were — originally  I  mean — an  author  by 
profession?" 

A  curious  sense  of  anger  burned  dully  within  me.  '  Origi- 
nally' an  author  ?  Was  I  not  one  still  ?  Was  I  to  be  given 
credit  for  nothing  but  my  banking-book  ?  '  Originally'  ? 
Why,  I  had  never  been  an  actual  '  author'  till  now, — I  had 
simply  been  a  wandering  literary  hack, — a  stray  *  super'  of 
Grub  Street,  occasionally  engaged  to  write  articles  *  to  order' 
on  any  subject  that  came  uppermost,  at  a  starvation  rate  of 
pay,  without  any  visible  prospect  of  rising  from  that  lowest 
and  dirtiest  rung  of  the  literary  ladder.  I  felt  myself  growing 
red,  then  pale, — and  I  saw  that  Lucio  was  looking  at  me 
fixedly. 

**  I  am  an  author,  Lady  Sibyl,"  I  said  at  last ;  ''  and  I  hope 
I  may  soon  prove  my  right  to  be  acknowledged  as  one. 
*  Author'  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  prouder  title  than  king,  and  I 
do  not  think  any  social  claims  will  deter  me  from  following 
the  profession  of  literature,  which  I  look  upon  as  the  highest 
in  the  world." 

Lord  Elton  fidgeted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"But  your  people,"  he  said, — **your  family— are  they 
literary  ?' ' 

"No  members  of  my  family  are  now  living,"  I  answered 
somewhat  stiffly.  "My  father  was  John  Tempest  of  Rex- 
moor." 

"Indeed!"  and  the  Earl's  face  brightened  considerably. 
"  Dear  me,  dear  me  !  I  used  to  meet  him  often  in  the  hunt- 
ing field  years  ago.  You  come  of  a  fine  old  stock,  sir  ! — the 
Tempests  of  Rexmoor  are  well  and  honourably  known  in  county 
chronicles." 


I40  TPIE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

I  said  nothing,  feeling  a  trifle  heated  in  temper,  though  I 
could  not  have  quite  explained  why. 

"One  begins  to  wonder,"  said  Lucio  then,  in  his  soft 
smooth  accents,  '*  when  one  is  the  descendant  of  a  good 
English  county  family, — a  distinct  cause  for  pride  ! — and 
moreover  has  the  still  more  substantial  fact  of  a  large  fortune 
to  support  that  high  lineage,  why  one  should  trouble  to  fight 
for  merely  literary  honours  !  You  are  far  too  modest  in  your 
ambitions.  Tempest ! — high-seated  as  you  are  upon  bank-notes 
and  bullion,  with  all  the  glory  of  effulgent  county  chronicles 
behind  you,  you  still  stoop  to  clutch  the  laurel !  Fie,  my 
dear  fellow !  You  degrade  yourself  by  this  desire  to  join  the 
company  of  the  immortals  !" 

His  satirical  tone  was  not  lost  upon  the  company ;  and  I, 
who  saw  that  in  his  own  special  way  he  was  defending  the 
claims  of  literature  against  those  of  mere  place  and  money, 
felt  soothed  and  grateful.     The  Earl  looked  a  trifle  annoyed. 

"That's  all  very  fine,"  he  said.  "But  you  see  it  isn't  as 
if  Mr  Tempest  were  driven  by  necessity  to  write  for  his 
living — " 

"  One  may  love  work  for  the  work's  sake  without  any  actual 
necessity  for  doing  it,"  I  interposed.  "For  example, — this 
Mavis  Clare  you  speak  of, — is  she — a  woman — driven  by 
necessity?" 

"  Mavis  Clare  hasn't  a  penny  in  the  world  that  she  does  not 
earn,"  said  Lord  Elton  gruffly.  "I  suppose  that  if  she  did 
not  write  she  would  starve." 

Diana  Chesney  laughed. 

"I  guess  she's  a  long  way  off  starvation  just  now,"  she 
remarked,  her  brown  eyes  twinkling.  "  Why,  she's  as  proud 
as  the  proudest, — drives  in  the  Park  in  her  victoria  and  pair 
with  the  best  in  the  land,  and  knows  all  the  '  swagger'  people. 
She's  nowhere  near  Grub  Street,  /  should  say.  I  hear  she's  a 
splendid  business  woman  and  more  than  a  match  for  the  pub- 
lishers all  round." 

"Well  I  should  rather  doubt  that,"  said  the  Earl  with  a 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  141 

chuckle.  ''It  needs  the  devil  himself  to  match  the  pub- 
lishers." 

''You  are  right,"  said  Lucio.  "In  fact,  I  daresay  that  in 
the  various  '  phases'  or  transmigrations  of  the  spirit  into  differ- 
ing forms  of  earthy  matter,  the  devil  (should  he  exist  at  all) 
has  frequently  become  a  publisher, — and  a  particularly  benev- 
olent publisher  too  ! — by  way  of  diversion." 

We  all  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  should  imagine  Mavis  Clare  to  be  a  match  for 
anybody  or  anything,"  said  Lady  Sibyl.  "Of  course  she  is 
not  rich, — but  she  spends  her  money  wisely  and  to  effective 
advantage.  I  do  not  know  her  personally, — I  wish  I  did ; 
but  I  have  read  her  books,  which  are  quite  out  of  the  common. 
She  is  a  most  independent  creature  too ;  quite  indifferent  to 
opinions." 

' '  I  suppose  she  must  be  extremely  plain  then, ' '  I  observed. 
"  Plain  women  always  try  to  do  something  more  or  less 
startling  in  order  to  attract  the  attention  denied  to  their 
personality. ' ' 

"  True, — but  that  would  not  apply  to  Miss  Clare.  She  is 
quite  lovely,  and  knows  how  to  dress  besides." 

^^  Such  a  virtue  in  literary  women  !"  exclaimed  Diana  Ches- 
ney.      "  Some  of  them  are  such  dowdies  !" 

"Most  people  of  culture,"  went  on  Lady  Sibyl — "in  our 
set  at  any  rate — are  accustomed  to  look  upon  Miss  Clare  as 
quite  an  exception  to  the  usual  run  of  authors.  She  is  charm- 
ing in  herself  as  well  as  in  her  books,  and  she  goes  every- 
where. She  writes  with  inspiration, — and  always  has  some- 
thing so  new  to  say — " 

"  That  of  course  all  the  critics  are  down  upon  her  ?' '  queried 
Lucio. 

"  Oh,  naturally  !     But  we  never  read  reviews." 

"  Nor  anyone  else  I  should  hope,"  said  Lord  Elton  with  a 
laugh — "  except  the  fellows  who  write  them,  ha — ha — ha  !  I 
call  it  damned  impertinence — excuse  the  word— on  the  part 
of  a  newspaper  hack  to  presume  to  teach  me  what  I  ought  to 


142  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

read,  or  what  I  ought  to  appreciate.  I'm  quite  capable  of 
forming  my  own  judgment  on  any  book  that  ever  was  written. 
But  I  avoid  all  the  confounded  '  new'  poets, — avoid  'em  like 
poison,  sir — ha — ha  !  Anything  but  a  '  new'  poet ;  the  old 
ones  are  good  enough  for  me.  Why,  sir,  these  reviewers  who 
give  themselves  such  airs  with  a  pennorth  of  ink  and  a  pen, 
are  mostly  half-grown,  half-educated  boys  who  for  a  couple  of 
guineas  a  week  undertake  to  tell  the  public  what  they  think  of 
such  and  such  a  book,  as  if  anyone  cared  a  jot  about  their 
green  opinions  !  Ridiculous — quite  ridiculous  ! — what  do 
they  take  the  public  for,  I  wonder !  Editors  of  responsible 
journals  ought  to  know  better  than  to  employ  such  young 
coxcombs  just  because  they  can  get  them  cheap " 

At  this  juncture  the  butler  came  up  behind  his  master's 
chair  and  whispered  a  few  words.  The  Earl's  brow  clouded, 
— then  he  addressed  his  sister-in-law, — 

"  Charlotte,  Lady  Elton  sends  word  that  she  will  come  into 
the  drawing-room  to-night.  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  and 
see  that  she  is  made  comfortable."  And,  as  Miss  Charlotte 
rose,  he  turned  to  us  saying,  ''  My  wife  is  seldom  well  enough 
to  see  visitors,  but  this  evening  she  feels  inclined  for  a  little 
change  and  distraction  from  the  monotony  of  her  sick-room. 
It  will  be  very  kind  of  you  two  gentlemen 'to  entertain  her, — 
she  cannot  speak  much,  but  her  hearing  and  sight  are  excel- 
lent, and  she  takes  great  interest  in  all  that  is  going  on.  Dear, 
dear  me  !"  and  he  heaved  a  short  troubled  sigh — ''  She  used 
to  be  one  of  the  brightest  of  women  !" 

*'The  sweet  Countess!"  murmured  Miss  Chesney  with 
patronizing  tenderness.     ''  She  is  quite  lovely  still !" 

Lady  Sibyl  glanced  at  her  with  a  sudden  haughty  frown 
which  showed  me  plainly  what  a  rebellious  temper  the  young 
beauty  held  in  control ;  and  I  fell  straightway  more  in  love — 
according  to  my  idea  of  love — than  ever.  I  confess  I  like  a 
woman  to  have  a  certain  amount  of  temper.  I  cannot  endure 
your  preternaturally  amiable  female,  who  can  find  nothing  in 
all  the  length  or  breadth  of  the  globe  to  move  her  to  any  other 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  143 

expression  than  a  fatuous  smile.  I  love  to  see  the  danger-flash 
in  bright  eyes,  the  delicate  quiver  of  pride  in  the  lines  of  a 
lovely  mouth,  and  the  warm  flush  of  indignation  on  fair  cheeks. 
It  all  suggests  spirit,  and  untamed  will ;  and  rouses  in  a  man 
the  love  of  mastery  that  is  born  in  his  nature,  urging  him  to 
conquer  and  subdue  that  which  seems  unconquerable.  And 
all  the  desire  of  such  conquest  was  strong  within  me,  when  at 
the  close  of  dinner  I  rose  and  held  the  door  open  for  the  ladies 
to  pass  out  of  the  room.  As  the  fair  Sibyl  went,  the  violets 
she  wore  at  her  bosom  dropped.  I  picked  them  up  and  made 
my  first  move. 

''  May  I  keep  these?"  I  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly, — but  she  looked  straight 
in  my  eyes  with  a  smile  that  perfectly  comprehended  my  hidden 
meaning. 

"  You  may  !"  she  answered. 

I  bowed,  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and,  secreting  the 
flowers,  returned,  well-satisfied,  to  my  place  at  table. 


XIII 

Left  with  myself  and  Lucio,  Lord  Elton  threw  off  all  re- 
serve, and  became  not  only  familiar,  but  fawning  in  his  adula- 
tion of  us  both.  An  abject  and  pitiable  desire  to  please  and 
propitiate  us  expressed  itself  in  his  every  look  and  word  ;  and 
I  firmly  believe  that  if  I  had  coolly  and  brutally  offered  to  buy 
his  fair  daughter  by  private  treaty  for  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  that  sum  to  be  paid  down  to  him  on  the  day  of  mar- 
riage, he  would  have  gladly  agreed  to  sell.  Apart,  however, 
from  his  personal  covetousness,  I  felt  and  knew  that  my  pro- 
jected courtship  of  Lady  Sibyl  would  of  necessity  resolve 
itself  into  something  more  or  less  of  a  market  bargain,  unless 
indeed  I  could  win  the  girl's  love.  I  meant  to  try  and  do  this, 
but  I  fully  realized  how  difficult,  nay,  almost  impossible  it 


144  THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

would  be  for  her  to  forget  the  fact  of  my  unhampered  and  vast 
fortune,  and  consider  me  for  myself  alone.  Herein  is  one  of 
the  blessings  of  poverty  which  the  poor  are  frequently  too  ajjt 
to  forget.  A  moneyless  man  if  he  wins  a  woman's  love, 
knows  that  such  love  is  genuine  and  untainted  by  self-interest  ^ 
but  a  rich  man  can  never  be  truly  certain  of  love  at  all.  The 
advantages  of  a  wealthy  match  are  constantly  urged  upon  all 
marriageable  girls  by  both  their  parents  and  friends, — and  it 
would  have  to  be  a  very  unsophisticated  feminine  nature  indeed 
that  could  contemplate  a  husband  possessing  five  millions  of 
money,  without  a  touch  of  purely  interested  satisfaction.  A 
very  wealthy  man  can  never  be  sure  even  of  friendship, — while 
the  highest,  strongest  and  noblest  kind  of  love  is  nearly  always 
denied  to  him,  in  this  way  carrying  out  the  fulfilment  of  those 
strange  but  true  words, — "  How  hardly  shall  he  that  is  a  rich 
man  enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven!"  The  heaven  of  a 
woman's  love,  tried  and  proved  true  through  disaster  and  dif- 
ficulty,— of  her  unflinching  faithfulness  and  devotion  in  days 
of  toil  and  bitter  anguish, — of  her  heroic  self-abnegation, 
sweetness  and  courage  through  the  darkest  hours  of  doubt 
and  disappointment ; — this  bright  and  splendid  side  of 
woman's  character  is  reserved  by  Divine  ordinance  for  the 
poor  man.  The  millionaire  can  indeed  wed  whomsoever  he 
pleases  among  all  the  beauties  of  the  world, — he  can  deck  his 
wife  in  gorgeous  apparel,  load  her  with  jewels  and  look  upon 
her  in  all  the  radiance  of  her  richly-adorned  loveliness  as  one 
may  look  upon  a  perfect  statue  or  matchless  picture, — but  he 
can  never  reach  the  deeper  secrets  of  her  soul  or  probe  the 
well-springs  of  her  finer  nature.  I  thought  this  even  thus  early 
in  the  beginning  of  my  admiration  for  Lady  Sibyl  Elton, 
though  I  did  not  then  dwell  upon  it  as  I  have  often  done  since. 
I  was  too  elated  with  the  pride  of  wealth  to  count  the  possi- 
bilities of  subtle  losses  amid  so  many  solid  gains;  and  I  en- 
joyed to  the  full  and  with  a  somewhat  contemptuous  malice 
the  humble  prostration  of  a  '  belted  Earl'  before  the  dazzling 
mine  of  practically  unlimited  cash  as  represented  to  him  in 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  145 

the  persons  of  my  brilliant  comrade  and  myself.  I  took  a 
curious  sort  of  pleasure  in  patronizing  him,  and  addressed  him 
with  a  protecting  air  of  indulgent  kindness,  whereat  he  seemed 
gratified.  Inwardly  I  laughed,  as  I  thought  how  differently 
matters  would  have  stood  supposing  I  had  been  indeed  no 
more  than  '  author'  !  I  might  have  proved  to  be  one  of  the 
greatest  writers  of  the  age,  but  if,  with  that,  I  had  been  poor 
or  only  moderately  well  off,  this  same  half  bankrupt  Earl,  who 
privately  boarded  an  American  heiress  for  two  thousand  guineas 
a  year,  would  have  deemed  it  a  '  condescension'  to  so  much  as 
invite  me  to  his  house, — would  have  looked  down  upon  me 
from  his  titled  nothingness  and  perhaps  carelessly  alluded  to 
me  as  '  a  man  who  writes — er — yes — er — rather  clever  I  be- 
lieve !'  and  then  would  have  thought  no  more  about  me.  For 
this  very  cause  as  '  author'  still,  though  millionaire,  I  took  a 
fantastic  pleasure  in  humiliating  his  lordship  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, and  I  found  the  best  w^ay  to  do  this  was  to  talk  about 
Willowsmere.  I  saw  that  he  winced  at  the  very  name  of  his 
lost  estate,  and  that  notwithstanding  this,  he  could  not  avoid 
showing  his  anxiety  as  to  my  intentions  with  regard  to  its  oc- 
cupation. Lucio,  whose  wisdom  and  foresight  had  suggested 
my  becoming  the  purchaser  of  the  place,  assisted  me  in  the 
moist  adroit  fashion  to  draw  him  out,  and  to  make  his  charac- 
ter manifest,  and  by  the  time  we  had  finished  our  cigars  and 
coffee,  I  knew  that  the  *  proud'  Earl  of  Elton,  who  could  trace 
his  lineage  to  the  earliest  days  of  the  Crusaders,  was  as  ready 
to  bend  his  back  and  crawl  in  the  dust  for  money  as  the  veriest 
hotel  porter  expectant  of  a  sovereign  '  tip.'  I  had  never  en- 
tertained a  high  opinion  of  the  aristocracy,  and  on  this  occa- 
sion it  was  certainly  not  improved,  but  remembering  that  the 
spendthrift  nobleman  beside  me  was  the  father  of  Lady  Sibyl, 
I  treated  him  on  the  whole  with  more  respect  than  his  mean 
and  grasping  nature  deserved. 

On  returning  to  the  drawing-room  after  dinner  I  was  struck 
by  the  chill  weirdness  that  seemed  to  be  imparted  to  it  by  the 
addition  of  Lady  Elton's  couch,  which,  placed  near  the  fire, 
G       k  13 


146  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

suggested  a  black  sarcophagus  in  bulk  and  outline.  It  was 
practically  a  narrow  bed  on  wheels,  though  partially  disguised 
by  a  silk  coverlet  draped  skilfully  so  as  to  somewhat  hide  its 
coffin-like  shape.  The  extended  figure  of  the  paralyzed 
Countess  herself  presented  a  death-like  rigidity  ;  but  her  face, 
as  she  turned  it  towards  us  on  our  entrance,  was  undisfigured 
as  yet,  and  distinctly  handsome,  her  eyes  especially  being 
large,  clear  and  almost  brilliant.  Her  daughter  introduced  us 
both  in  a  low  tone,  and  she  moved  her  head  slightly  by  way 
of  acknowledgment,  studying  us  curiously  the  while. 

''Well,  my  dear,"  said  Lord  Elton  briskly,  "this  is  an 
unexpected  pleasure  !  it  is  nearly  three  months  since  you 
honoured  us  with  your  company.     How  do  you  feel?" 

''Better,"  she  replied  slowly,  yet  distinctly,  her  gaze  now 
fixed  with  wondering  intentness  on  Prince  Rimanez. 

"Mother  found  the  room  rather  cold,"  explained  Lady 
Sibyl ;  "so  we  brought  her  as  near  to  the  fire  as  possible.  It 
z>  cold," — and  she  shivered; — "I  fancy  it  must  be  freezing 
hard." 

"  Where  is  Diana?"  asked  the  Earl,  looking  about  in  search 
of  that  lively  young  lady. 

"Miss  Chesney  has  gone  to  her  own  room  to  write  a  letter," 
replied  his  daughter  somewhat  frigidly.  "  She  will  be  back 
directly." 

At  this  moment  Lady  Elton  feebly  raised  her  hand,  and 
pointed  to  Lucio,  who  had  moved  aside  to  answer  some  ques- 
tion asked  of  him  by  Miss  Charlotte. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  murmured. 

"Why,  mother  dear,  I  told  you,"  said  Lady  Sibyl  gently. 
"That  is  Prince  Lucio  Rimanez,  Papa's  great  friend." 

The  Countess's  pallid  hand  still  remained  lifted,  as  though 
it  were  frozen  in  air. 

'•^WJiat  is  he?"  the  slow  voice  again  inquired, — and  then 
the  hand  dropped  suddenly  like  a  dead  thing. 

"Now,  Helena,  you  must  not  excite  yourself,"  said  her 
husband,    bending    over   her    couch    with   real   or    assumed 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  147 

anxiety.  *' Surely  you  remember  all  I  have  told  you  about 
the  prince?  And  also  about  this  gentleman,  Mr  Geoffrey 
Tempest?" 

She  nodded,  and  her  eyes,  turning  reluctantly  away  from 
Rimamez,  regarded  me  fixedly. 

**You  are  a  very  young  man  to  be  a  millionaire,"  were 
her  next  words,  uttered  with  evident  difficulty.  ''Are  you 
married  ?' ' 

I  smiled,  and  answered  in  the  negative.  Her  looks  wan- 
dered from  me  to  her  daughter's  face, — then  back  to  me  again 
with  a  singularly  intent  expression.  Finally,  the  potent  mag- 
netism of  Lucio's  presence  again  attracted  her,  and  she 
indicated  him  by  a  gesture. 

"Ask  your  friend  ...  to  come  here  .  .  .  and  speak  to 
me." 

Rimanez  turned  instinctively  at  her  request,  and  with  his 
own  peculiar  charm  and  gallant  grace  of  bearing,  came  to  the 
side  of  the  paralyzed  lady,  and  taking  her  hand,  kissed  it. 

"Your  face  seems  familiar  to  me,"  she  said,  speaking 
now,  as  it  seemed,  with  greater  ease.  "  Have  I  ever  met  you 
before  ?' ' 

"  Dear  lady,  you  may  have  done  so,"  he  replied  in  dulcet 
tones  and  with  a  most  captivating  gentleness  of  manner.  "  It 
occurs  to  me,  now  I  think  of  it,  that  years  ago  I  saw  once,  as 
a  passing  vision  of  loveliness,  in  the  hey-day  of  youth  and  hap- 
piness, Helena  Fitzroy,  before  she  was  Countess  of  Elton." 

"  You  must  have  been  a  mere  boy — a  child — at  that  time !" 
she  murmured,  faintly  smiling. 

"  Not  so  ! — for  you  are  still  young,  Madame,  and  I  am  old. 
You  look  incredulous  ?  Alas,  why  is  it,  I  wonder,  I  may  not 
look  the  age  I  am  !  Most  of  my  acquaintances  spend  a  great 
part  of  their  lives  in  trying  to  look  the  age  they  are  not ;  and 
I  never  came  across  a  man  of  fifty  who  was  not  proud  to  be 
considered  thirty-nine.  My  desires  are  more  laudable, — yet 
honourable  eld  refuses  to  impress  itself  upon  my  features.  It 
is  quite  a  sore  point  with  me  I  assure  you." 


148  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

"  Well,  how  old  are  you  really?"  asked  Lady  Sibyl,  smiling 
at  him. 

'*Ah,  I  dare  not  tell  you!"  he  answered,  returning  the 
smile.  ''  But  I  ought  to  explain  that  in  my  countings  I  judge 
age  by  the  workings  of  thought  and  feeling,  more  than  by  the 
passing  of  years.  Thus  it  should  not  surprise  you  to  hear  that 
I  feel  myself  old, — old  as  the  world  !" 

"  But  there  are  scientists  who  say  that  the  world  is  young," 
I  observed,  ''and  that  it  is  only  now  beginning  to  feel  its 
forces  and  put  forth  its  vigour." 

"Such  optimistic  wiseacres  are  wrong,"  he  answered. 
"  The  world  is  a  veritable  husk  of  a  planet ;  humanity  has 
nearly  completed  all  its  allotted  phases,  and  the  end  is 
near. ' ' 

"The  end?"  echoed  Lady  Sibyl.  "  Do  you  believe  the 
world  will  ever  come  to  an  end  ?" 

"  I  do,  most  certainly.  Or,  to  be  more  correct,  it  will  not 
actually  perish,  but  will  simply  change.  And  the  change  will 
not  agree  with  the  constitution  of  its  present  inhabitants. 
They  will  call  the  transformation  the  Day  of  Judgment.  I 
should  imagine  it  would  be  a  fine  sight," 

The  Countess  gazed  at  him  wonderingly, — Lady  Sibyl 
seemed  amused. 

"I  would  rather  not  witness  it,"  said  Lord  Elton  gruffly. 

"Oh,  why?"  and  Rimanez  looked  about  with  quite  a 
cheerful  air.  "  A  final  glimpse  of  the  planet  ere  we  ascend  or 
^<:'scend  to  our  future  homes  elsewhere,  would  be  something  to 
remember!  Madame," — here  he  addressed  Lady  Elton, — 
"are  you  fond  of  music?" 

The  invalid  smiled  gratefully,  and  bent  her  head  in  acqui- 
escence. Miss  Chesney  had  just  entered  the  room  and  heard 
the  question. 

"  Do  you  play?"  she  exclaimed  vivaciously,  touching  him 
on  the  arm  with  her  fan. 

He  bowed.  "  I  do, — in  an  erratic  sort  of  fashion.  I  also 
sing.     Music  has  always  been  one  of  my  passions.     When  I 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  149 

was  very  young, — ages  ago, — I  used  to  imagine  I  could  hear 
the  angel  Israfel  chanting  his  strophes  amid  the  golden  glow 
of  heavenly  glory, — himself  white-winged  and  wonderful, 
with  a  voice  out-ringing  beyond  the  verge  of  paradise." 

As  he  spoke,  a  sudden  silence  fell  upon  us  all.  Something 
in  his  accent  touched  my  heart  to  a  strange  sense  of  sorrow 
and  yearning,  and  the  Countess  of  Elton's  dark  eyes,  lan- 
guid with  long  suffering,  grew  soft  as  though  with  repressed 
tears. 

"Sometimes,"  he  continued  more  lightly — ''just  at  odd 
moments — I  like  to  believe  in  Paradise.  It  is  a  relief,  even 
to  a  hardened  sinner  like  myself,  to  fancy  that  there  may  exist 
something  in  the  way  of  a  world  better  than  this  one." 

''Surely  sir,"  said  Miss  Charlotte  Fitzroy  severely,  "you 
believe  in  Heaven?" 

He  looked  at  her,  and  smiled  slightly. 

"  Madame,  forgive  me  !  I  do  not  believe  in  the  clerical 
heaven.  I  know  you  will  be  angry  with  me  for  this  frank 
confession  !  But  I  cannot  picture  the  angels  in  white  smocks 
with  goose  wings,  or  the  Deity  as  a  somewhat  excitable  per- 
sonage with  a  beard.  Personally  I  should  decline  to  go  to 
any  heaven  which  was  only  a  city  with  golden  streets  ;  and  I 
should  object  to  a  sea  of  glass,  resenting  it  as  a  want  of  in- 
vention on  the  part  of  the  creative  Intelligence.  But — do 
not  frown,  dear  Miss  Fitzroy  ! — I  do  believe  in  Heaven  all  the 
same, — a  different  kind  of  heaven, — I  often  see  it  in  my 
dreams  ! ' ' 

He  paused,  and  again  we  were  all  silent,  gazing  at  him. 
Lady  Sibyl's  eyes,  indeed,  rested  upon  him  with  such  ab- 
sorbed interest,  that  I  became  somewhat  irritated,  and  was 
glad  when,  turning  towards  the  Countess  once  more,  he  said 
quietly — 

"  Shall  I  give  you  some  music  now,  Madame?" 

She  murmured  assent,  and  followed  him  with  a  vaguely 
uneasy  glance  as  he  crossed  over  to  the  grand  piano  and  sat 
down.     I  had  never  heard  him  either  play  or  sing;  in  fact, 

13* 


ISO  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

so  far  as  his  accomplishments  went  I  knew  nothing  of  him  as 
yet,  except  that  he  was  a  perfect  master  of  the  art  of  horse- 
manship. With  the  first  few  bars  he  struck  I  half  started  from 
my  chair  in  amazement ; — could  a  mere  pianoforte  produce 
such  sounds? — or  was  there  some  witchery  hidden  in  the 
commonplace  instrument,  unguessed  by  any  other  performer  ? 
I  stared  around  me,  bewildered, — I  saw  Miss  Charlotte  drop 
her  knitting  abstractedly, — Diana  Chesney,  lying  lazily  back 
in  one  corner  of  the  sofa,  half  closed  her  eyelids  in  dreamy 
ecstasy, — Lord  Elton  stood  near  the  fire  resting  one  arm  on 
the  mantelpiece,  and  shading  his  fuzzy  brows  with  his  hand, — 
and  Lady  Sibyl  sat  beside  her  mother,  her  lovely  face  pale 
with  emotion,  while  on  the  worn  features  of  the  invalided  lady 
there  was  an  expression  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure  difficult 
to  describe.  The  music  swelled  into  ])assionate  cadence, — 
melodies  crossed  and  re -crossed  each  other  like  rays  of  light 
glittering  among  green  leaves, — voices  of  birds  and  streams 
and  tossing  waterfalls  chimed  in  with  songs  of  love  and  play- 
ful merriment ; — anon  came  wilder  strains  of  grief  and  angry 
clamour ;  cries  of  despair  were  heard  echoing  through  the 
thunderous  noise  of  some  relentless  storm, — farewells  ever- 
lastingly shrieked  amid  sobs  of  reluctant  shuddering  agony  ; — 
and  then,  as  I  listened,  before  my  eyes  a  black  mist  gathered 
slowly,  and  I  thought  I  saw  great  rocks  bursting  asunder  into 
flame,  and  drifting  islands  in  a  sea  of  fire, — faces,  wonderful, 
hideous,  beautiful,  peered  at  me  out  of  darkness  denser  than 
night,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  there  came  a  tune,  complete  in 
sweetness  and  suggestion, — a  piercing  sword-like  tune  that 
plunged  into  my  very  heart  and  rankled  there; — my  breath 
failed  me, — my  senses  swam, — I  felt  that  I  must  move,  speak, 
cry  out,  and  implore  that  this  music,  this  horribly  insidious 
music  should  cease  ere  I  swooned  with  the  voluptuous  poison 
of  it, — when,  with  a  full  chord  of  splendid  harmony  that  rolled 
out  upon  the  air  like  a  breaking  wave,  the  intoxicating  sounds 
ebbed  away  into  silence.  No  one  spoke, — our  hearts  were 
yet  beating  too  wildly  with  the  pulsations  roused  by  that 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


151 


wondrous  lyric  storm.  Diana  Chesney  was  the  first  to  break 
the  spell. 

''Well,  that  beats  everything  I've  ever  heard!"  she  mur- 
mured tremulously. 

I  could  say  nothing, — I  was  too  occupied  with  my  own 
thoughts.  Something  in  the  music  had  instilled  itself  into 
my  blood,  or  so  I  fancied,  and  the  clinging  subtle  sweetness 
of  it,  moved  me  to  strange  emotions  that  were  neither  wise 
nor  worthy  of  a  man.  I  looked  at  Lady  Sibyl ;  she  was  very 
pale, — her  eyes  were  cast  down  and  her  hands  were  trembling. 
On  a  sudden  impulse  I  rose,  and  went  to  Rimanez,  where  he 
still  sat  at  the  piano,  his  hands  dumbly  wandering  over  the 
keys. 

*'You  are  a  great  master,"  I  said, — ''a  wonderful  per- 
former !     But  do  you  know  what  your  music  suggests?" 

He  met  my  fixed  gaze,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  shook 
his  head. 

''Crime!"  I  whispered.  "You  have  roused  in  me  evil 
thoughts  of  which  I  am  ashamed.  I  did  not  think  that  was 
possible  to  so  divine  an  Art. ' ' 

He  smiled,  and  his  eyes  glittered  with  the  steely  brightness 
of  stars  on  a  wintry  night. 

"Art  takes  its  colours  from  the  mind,  my  dear  friend," 
he  said.  "  If  you  discover  evil  suggestions  in  my  music,  the 
evil,  I  fear,  must  be  in  your  own  nature." 

"Or  in  yours  !"  I  said  quickly. 

"  Or  in  mine,"  he  agreed  coldly.  "I  have  often  told  you 
I  am  no  saint." 

I  stood  hesitatingly,  looking  at  him.  For  one  moment  his 
great  personal  beauty  appeared  hateful  to  me,  though  I  knew 
not  why.  Then  the  feeling  of  distrust  and  repulsion  slowly 
passed,  leaving  me  humiliated  and  abashed, 

"Pardon  me,  Lucio  !"  I  murmured  regretfully, — "I  spoke 
in  haste ;  but  truly  your  music  almost  put  me  in  a  state  of 
frenzy.     I  never  heard  anything  in  the  least  like  it " 

"Nor  I,"  said  Lady  Sibyl,  who  just  then  moved  towards 


152 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


the  piano.  "It  was  marvellous!  Do  you  know  it  quite 
frightened  me?" 

''  I  am  sorry  !"  he  answered,  with  a  penitent  air.  "  I  know 
I  am  quite  a  failure  as  a  pianist.  I  am  not  sufficiently  '  re- 
strained,' as  the  press  men  would  say." 

*' A  failure?  Good  God!"  exclaimed  Lord  Elton  at  this 
juncture.  "Why,  if  you  played  like  that  in  public,  you'd 
drive  everyone  frantic  !" 

"With  alarm?"  queried  Lucio,  laughing,  "or  with  dis- 
gust?" 

"Nonsense!  you  know  what  I  mean  very  well.  I  have 
always  had  a  contempt  for  the  piano  as  an  instrument,  but 
by  Jove  !  I  never  heard  such  music  as  yours  even  in  a  full 
orchestra.  It  is  extraordinary  ! — it  is  positively  magnificent ! 
Where  in  the  world  did  you  study  ?' ' 

"In  Nature's  conservatoire,"  replied  Rimanez  lazily. 
"My  first  'maestro'  was  an  amiable  nightingale.  He, 
singing  on  a  branch  of  fir  when  the  moon  was  full, 
explained  with  liquid-noted  patience,  how  to  construct 
and  produce  a  pure  roulade,  cadenza  and  trill, — and 
when  I  had  learned  thus  far,  he  showed  me  all  the  most 
elaborate  methods  of  applying  rhythmic  tune  to  the  upward 
and  downward  rush  of  the  wind,  thus  supplying  me  with 
perfect  counterpoint.  >  Chords  I  learned  from  old  Neptune, 
who  was  good  enough  to  toss  a  few  of  his  largest  billows  to 
the  shore  for  my  special  benefit.  He  nearly  deafened  me 
with  his  instructions,  being  somewhat  excitable  and  loud- 
voiced, — but  on  finding  me  an  apt  pupil,  he  drew  back  his 
waves  to  himself  with  so  much  delicacy  among  the  pebbles 
and  sand,  that  at  once  I  mastered  the  secret  of  playing 
ai'peggi.  Once  too  I  had  a  finishing  lesson  from  a  Dream, 
— a  mystic  thing  with  wild  hair  and  wings ;  it  sang  one  word 
in  my  ears,  and  the  word  was  unpronounceable  in  mortal 
speech, — but  after  many  efforts  I  discovered  it  lurking  in  the 
scale  of  sound.  The  best  part  of  it  all  was  that  my  instructors 
asked  no  fees." 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  153 

"I  think  you  are  a  poet  as  well  as  a  musician,"  said 
Lady  Sibyl. 

*'  A  poet !  Spare  me  !— my  dear  young  lady,  why  are  you 
so  cruel  as  to  load  me  with  so  vile  an  imputation  !  Better  be 
a  murderer  than  a  poet, — one  is  treated  with  much  more 
respect  and  courteous  consideration, — by  the  press  at  any 
rate.  The  murderer's  breakfast-menu  will  be  given  due 
place  in  many  of  the  most  estimable  journals,  but  the 
poet's  lack  of  both  breakfast  and  dinner  will  be  deemed  his 
fitting  reward.  Call  me  a  live-stock  producer,  a  horse- 
breeder,  a  timber-merchant, — anything  but  a  poet !  Why 
even  Tennyson  became  an  amateur  milkman  to  somewhat  con- 
ceal and  excuse  the  shame  and  degradation  of  writing  verse  ! ' ' 

We  all  laughed. 

"  Well,  you  must  admit,"  said  Lord  Elton,  "  that  we've  had 
rather  too  much  of  poets  lately.  It's  no  wonder  we're  sick 
of  them,  and  that  poetry  has  fallen  into  disrepute.  Poets 
are  such  a  quarrelsome  lot  ton — effeminate,  puling,  unmanly 
humbugs  ! ' ' 

''You  are  speaking  of  the  newly  'discovered'  ones  of 
course,"  said  Lucio.  "Yes,  they  are  a  weedy  collection.  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  out  of  pure  philanthropy  I 
would  start  a  bon-bon  manufactory,  and  employ  them  to 
write  mottoes  for  the  crackers.  It  would  keep  them  out  of 
mischief  and  provide  them  with  a  little  pocket-money,  for  as 
matters  stand  they  do  not  make  a  farthing  by  their  books. 
But  I  do  not  call  them  '  poets'  at  all, — they  are  mere 
rhymers.  One  or  two  real  poets  do  exist,  but,  like  the 
prophets  of  Scripture,  they  are  not  'in  society,'  nor  can  they 
get  their  logs  rolled  by  any  of  their  contemporaries.  They 
are  not  favourites  with  any  "  set'  ;  that  is  why  I  am  afraid  my 
dear  friend  Tempest  will  never  be  accepted  as  the  genius  he 
is ;  society  will  be  too  fond  of  him  to  let  him  go  down  into 
dust  and  ashes  to  gather  the  laurel." 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  go  down  into  dust  and  ashes  for 
that,"  I  said. 


154  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

"I  assure  you  it  is!"  he  answered  gaily, — '^positively 
imperative.  The  laurel  flourishes  best  so, — it  will  not  grow 
in  a  hot-house." 

At  that  moment  Diana  Chesney  approached. 

"Lady  Elton  would  like  to  hear  you  sing,  prince,"  she 
said,  ''Will  you  give  us  that  pleasure?  Do!  Something 
quite  simple,  you  know, — it  will  set  our  nerves  straight  after 
your  terribly  beautiful  music  !  You'd  hardly  believe  it  per- 
haps, but  I  really  feel  quite  unstrung  ! ' ' 

He  folded  his  hands  with  a  droll  air  of  penitence. 

"  Forgive  me  !"  he  said.  "I'm  always,  as  the  church  service 
says,  doing  those  things  I  ought  not  to  do." 

Miss  Chesney  laughed,  a  trifle  nervously. 

"  Oh,  I  forgive  you  !"  she  replied — "  on  condition  that  you 
sing." 

"  I  obey  !"  and  with  that  he  turned  again  to  the  piano  and, 
playing  a  strange  wild  minor  accompaniment,  sang  the  fol- 
lowing stanzas : 

Sleep,  my  Beloved,  sleep! 

Be  patient ! — we  shall  keep 

Our  secret  closely  hid 

Beneath  the  coffin-lid, — 
There  is  no  other  place  in  earth  or  air 
For  such  a  love  as  ours,  or  such  despair! 
And  neither  hell  nor  heaven  shall  care  to  win 
Our  loathed  souls,  rejoicing  in  their  sin! 

Sleep  ! — for  my  hand  is  sure, — 

The  cold  steel  bright  and  pure 

Strikes  through  thy  heart  and  mine, 

Shedding  our  blood  like  wine  ; — 
Sin's  sweetness  is  too  sweet,  and  if  the  shame 
Of  love  must  be  our  curse,  we  hurl  the  blame 
Back  on  the  gods  who  gave  us  love  with  breath, 
And  tortured  us  from  passion  into  death  ! 

This  extraordinary  song,  sung  in  the  most  glorious  of 
baritones,  full  and  rich,  and  vibrating  with  power  and  sweet- 
ness, had  a  visibly  thrilling  effect  upon  us  all.     Again  we  were 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  155 

struck  dumb  with  surprise  and  something  like  fear, — and  again 
Diana  Chesney  broke  the  silence. 

"  You  call  that  simple  !"  she  said,  half  petulantly. 

*'  Quite  so.  Love  and  Death  are  the  simplest  things  in  the 
world,"  replied  Lucio.  "The  ballad  is  a  mere  trifle, — it  is 
entitled  'The  Last  Love-Song,'  and  is  supposed  to  be  the 
utterance  of  a  lover  about  to  kill  his  mistress  and  himself. 
Such  events  happen  every  day, — you  know  that  by  the  news- 
papers,— they  are  perfectly  common-place " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  sharp  clear  voice  ringing  impera- 
tively across  the  room — 

''  Where  did  you  learn  that  song?" 


XIV 

It  was  the  paralyzed  Countess  who  spoke.  She  had  man- 
aged to  partly  raise  herself  on  her  couch,  and  her  face  ex- 
pressed positive  terror.  Her  husband  hurried  to  her  side, — 
and,  with  a  curiously  cynical  smile  on  his  lips,  Rimanez  rose 
from  the  piano.  Miss  Charlotte,  who  had  sat  rigidly  upright 
and  silent  for  some  time,  hastened  to  attend  upon  her  sister, 
but  Lady  Elton  was  singularly  excited,  and  appeared  to  have 
gained  a  sudden  access  of  unnatural  vigour. 

"  Go  away, — I'm  not  ill,"  she  said  impatiently.  *'  I  feel 
better, — much  better  than  I  have  done  for  months.  The 
music  does  me  good."  And  addressing  her  husband,  she 
added,  "Ask  your  friend  to  come  and  sit  here  by  me, — I 
want  to  talk  to  him.  He  has  a  magnificent  voice, — and — 
I  know  that  song  he  sang, — I  remember  reading  it — in  a 
manuscript  album — long  ago.  I  want  to  know  where  he 
found  it." 

Rimanez  here  advanced  with  his  gentle  tread  and  courteous 
bearing,  and  Lord  Elton  gave  him  a  chair  beside  the  invalid. 

"You  are  working  miracles  on  my  wife,"  he  said.  "I 
have  not  seen  her  so  animated  for  years." 


156  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

And  leaving  the  two  to  talk,  he  crossed  over  to  where  Lady 
Sibyl,  myself,  and  Miss  Chesney,  were  all  seated  in  a  group, 
chatting  more  or  less  unrestrainedly. 

"  I  have  just  been  expressing  the  hope  that  you  and  your 
daughter  will  pay  me  a  visit  at  Willowsmere,  Lord  Elton,"  I 
said. 

His  brows  contracted  a  little,  but  he  forced  a  smile.  *'  We 
shall  be  delighted,"  he  mumbled.  ''When  do  you  take 
possession  ?' ' 

"As  soon  as  it  is  at  all  feasible,"  I  replied.  "  I  shall  wait 
in  town  till  the  next  Levee  is  over,  as  both  my  friend  and 
myself  have  arranged  to  be  presented." 

**0h — ah — yes! — er — yes!  That  is  always  advisable. 
And  it's  not  half  such  a  troublesome  business  as  a  Drawing- 
room  is  for  the  ladies.  It's  soon  over, — and  low  bodices  are 
not  de  rigeiir — ha — ha — ha?     Who  is  your  presenter?" 

I  named  a  distinguished  personage,  closely  connected  with 
the  Court,  and  the  Earl  nodded. 

"A  very  good  man, — you  could  not  have  a  better,"  he 
said  complacently.  ''  And  this  book  of  yours, — when  does  it 
come  out  ?' ' 

"Next  week." 

"We  must  get  it, — we  must  certainly  get  it,"  said  Lord 
Elton,  assuming  interest. — "  Sybil,  you  must  put  it  down  on 
your  library  list." 

She  assented,  though,  as  I  thought  a  trifle  indifferently. 

"  On  the  contrary  you  must  allow  me  to  present  it  to  you," 
I  said.  "  It  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  which  I  hope  you  will 
not  deny." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered,  lifting  her  beautiful 
eyes  to  mine  as  she  spoke;  "but  the  librarian  at  Mudie's  is 
sure  to  send  it — he  knows  I  read  everything.  Though  I  con- 
fess I  never  buy  any  books  except  those  by  Mavis  Clare." 

Again  that  woman's  name  1  I  felt  annoyed,  but  took  care 
not  to  show  my  annoyance. 

"  I  shall  be  jealous  of  Mavis  Clare,"  I  said  playfully. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  157 

*'  Most  men  are  !"  she  replied  quietly. 

''You  are  indeed  an  enthusiastic  partisan  of  hers  !"  I  ex- 
claimed, somewhat  surprised. 

''Yes,  I  suppose  I  am.  I  like  to  see  any  member  of  my 
sex  distinguish  herself  as  nobly  as  she  does.  I  have  no  genius 
of  my  own,  and  that  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  honour  it  so 
much  in  other  women." 

I  was  about  to  make  some  suitable  compliment  by  way  of 
response  to  this  remark,  when  we  were  all  violently  startled 
from  our  seats  by  a  most  horrible  cry, — a  gasping  scream,  such 
as  might  be  wrung  from  some  tortured  animal.  Aghast  at 
the  sound  we  stood  for  a  moment  inert,  staring  at  Rimanez, 
who  came  quickly  towards  us  with  an  air  of  grave  con- 
cern. 

'*I  am  afraid,"  he  said  softly,  "  that  the  Countess  is  not  so 
well, — perhaps  you  had  better  go  to  her — " 

Another  shriek  interrupted  his  words,  and,  transfixed  with 
horror,  we  saw  Lady  Elton  struggling  in  the  throes  of  some 
sudden  and  terrific  convulsion,  her  hands  beating  the  air  as  if 
she  were  fighting  w^ith  an  unseen  enemy.  In  one  second  her 
face  underwent  such  hideous  contortions  as  robbed  it  of  all 
human  semblance,  and  between  the  agonized  pantings  of  her 
difficult  breath,  her  half-choked  voice  could  be  heard  uttering 
wdld  cries — 

"  Mercy  !— mercy  !— oh  God  !— God  !  Tell  Sibyl  !— pray 
— pray  to  God, — pray " 

And  with  that  she  fell  heavily  back,  speechless  and  uncon- 
scious. 

All  was  instant  confusion.  Lady  Sibyl  rushed  to  her 
mother's  side,  with  Miss  Charlotte, — Diana  Chesney  hung 
back  trembling  and  afraid, — Lord  Elton  sprang  to  the  bell 
and  rang  it  furiously. 

"Fetch  the  doctor!"  he  cried  to  the  startled  servant. 
"Lady  Elton  has  had  another  shock  !  She  must  be  taken  to 
her  room  at  once." 

"  Can  I  be  of  any  service?"  I  inquired,  with  a  side  glance 

14 


158  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

at  Rimanez,  who  stood  gravely  apart,  a  statuesquely  composed 
figure  of  silence. 

"  No,  no, — thanks  all  the  same  !"  and  the  Earl  pressed  my 
hand  gratefully.  "  She  should  not  have  come  downstairs, — it 
has  been  too  exciting  for  her.  Sibyl,  don't  look  at  her,  my 
dear — it  will  only  unnerve  you. — Miss  Chesney,  pray  go  to 
your  room, — Charlotte  can  do  all  that  is  possible " 

As  he  spoke,  two  of  the  men-servants  came  in  to  carry  the 
insensible  Countess  upstairs, — and  as  they  slowly  bore  her 
on  her  coffin-like  couch  past  me,  one  of  them  drew  the  cover- 
let across  her  face  to  conceal  it.  But  not  so  quickly  that  I 
could  not  see  the  awful  change  impressed  upon  it, — the  in- 
delible horror  that  was  stamped  on  the  drawn  features, — 
horror  such  as  surely  never  was  seen  except  in  a  painter's  idea 
of  some  lost  soul  in  torment.  The  eyes  were  rolled  up  and 
fixed  in  their  sockets  like  balls  of  glass,  and  in  them  also  was 
frozen  the  same  frenzied  desperate  look  of  fear.  It  was  a 
dreadful  face  ! — so  dreadful  in  its  ghastly  immovableness,  that 
I  was  all  at  once  reminded  of  my  hideous  vision  of  the  pre- 
vious night,  and  the  pallid  countenances  of  the  three  phantoms 
that  had  scared  me  in  my  sleep.  Lady  Elton's  looks  now 
resembled  theirs  !  Sickened  and  appalled,  I  averted  my  eyes, 
and  was  glad  to  see  Rimanez  taking  farewell  of  his  host,  the 
while  he  expressed  his  regret  and  sympathy  wdth  him  in  his 
domestic  affliction.  I  myself,  approaching  Lady  Sibyl, 
pressed  her  cold  and  trembling  hand  in  mine,  and  respect- 
fully kissed  it. 

''I  am  deeply  sorry!"  I  murmured.  "1  wish  I  could  do 
anything  to  console  you. ' ' 

She  looked  at  me  with  dry  calm  eyes. 

"  Thank  you.  But  the  doctors  have  always  said  that  my 
mother  would  have  another  shock  depriving  her  of  speech. 
It  is  very  sad  ;  she  will  probably  live  for  some  years  like  that." 

I  again  expressed  my  sympathy. 

''May  I  come  and  inquire  about  you  all  to-morrow?"  I 
asked. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


159 


*'It  will  be  very  kind  of  you,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  if  I  come?"  I  said  in  a  lower  tone. 

*'If  you  wish  it, — certainly  !" 

Our  eyes  met ;  and  I  knew  by  instinct  that  she  read  my 
thoughts.  I  pressed  her  hand  again,  and  was  not  repulsed ; 
then  bowing  profoundly,  I  left  her  to  make  my  adieux  to 
Lord  Elton  and  Miss  Chesney,  who  seemed  terribly  upset 
and  frightened.  Miss  Charlotte  Fitzroy  had  left  the  room  in 
attendance  on  her  sister,  and  she  did  not  return  to  bid  us 
good-night.  Rimanez  lingered  a  moment  behind  me  to  say 
another  word  or  two  to  the  Earl,  and  when  he  joined  me  in 
the  hall  and  threw  on  his  opera-coat,  he  was  smiling  to  him- 
self somewhat  singularly. 

''An  unpleasant  end  for  Helena,  Countess  of  Elton,"  he 
said,  when  we  were  in  our  brougham,  driving  away.  "  Paraly- 
sis is  perhaps  the  worst  of  all  the  physical  punishments  that 
can  befall  a  '  rapid'  lady." 

''Was  she  'rapid'  ?" 

"  Well, — perhaps  '  rapid'  is  too  mild  a  term,  but  I  can  find 
no  other,"  he  answered.  "When  she  was  young, — she  is 
barely  fifty  now, — she  did  everything  that  could  be  done  by 
woman  at  her  worst  and  wildest.  She  had  scores  of  lovers, 
— and  I  believe  one  of  them  cleared  off  her  husband's  turf- 
debts, — the  Earl  consenting  gladly, — on  a  rather  pressing 
occasion." 

"  What  disgraceful  conduct !"  I  exclaimed. 

He  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  cynical  amusement. 

"Think  so?  The  '  upper  ten'  quite  condone  that  sort  of 
thing  in  their  own  set  now-a-days.  It  is  all  right.  If  a  lady 
has  lovers,  and  her  husband  beams  benevolence  on  the  situa- 
tion, what  can  be  said?  Nothing.  How  very  tender  your 
conscience  is,  Geoffrey  !" 

I  sat  silent,  thinking.  My  companion  lit  a  cigarette  and 
offered  me  one.     I  took  it  mechanically  without  lighting  it. 

"  I  made  a  mistake  this  evening,"  he  went  on.  "  I  should 
not  have  sung  that    -'Last   Love-song."      The  fact  is,  the 


i6o  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

words  were  written  by  one  of  her  ladyship's  former  admirers, 
a  man  who  was  something  of  a  poet  in  his  way, — and  she  had 
an  idea  that  she  was  the  only  person  living  who  had  ever  seen 
the  lines.  She  wanted  to  know  if  I  knew  the  man  who  com- 
posed them,  and  I  was  able  to  say  that  I  did — very  intimately. 
I  was  just  explaining  how  it  was,  and  why  I  knew  him  so  well, 
when  the  distressing  attack  of  convulsions  came  on,  and  fin- 
ished our  conversation. ' ' 

''  She  looked  horrible  !"  I  said. 

"The  paralyzed  Helen  of  a  modern  Troy?  Yes, — her 
countenance  at  the  last  was  certainly  not  attractive.  Beauty 
combined  with  wantonness,  frequently  ends  in  the  drawn 
twitch,  fixed  eye  and  helpless  limbs  of  life-in-death.  It  is 
Nature's  revenge  on  the  outraged  body, — and  do  you  know. 
Eternity's  revenge  on  the  impure  Soul  is  extremely  similar?" 

''  What  do  you  know  about  it?"  I  said,  smiling  in  spite  of 
myself,  as  I  looked  at  his  fine  face,  expressive  of  perfect  health 
and  splendid  intellectuality.  '*  Your  absurd  fancies  about  the 
soul  are  the  only  traces  of  folly  I  discover  in  you." 

'*  Really?  Well  I  am  glad  I  have  something  of  the  fool  in 
my  disposition, — foolishness  being  the  only  quality  that 
makes  wisdom  possible.  I  confess  I  have  odd,  very  odd 
notions  about  the  soul." 

''I  will  excuse  them,"  I  said,  laughing, — God  forgive  me, 
in  my  own  insensate  blind  conceit, — the  while  he  regarded 
me  fixedly.  ''  In  fact,  I  will  excuse  anything  for  the  sake  of 
your  voice.  I  do  not  flatter  you,  Lucio, — you  sing  like  an 
angel. ' ' 

"Don't  use  impossible  comparisons,"  he  replied.  "Have 
you  ever  heard  an  angel  sing?" 

"Yes  !"  I  answered  smiling — "  I  have, — this  very  night !" 

He  turned  deadly  pale. 

**A  very  open  compliment !"  he  said,  forcing  a  laugh ;  and 
with  almost  rough  haste,  he  suddenly  let  down  the  window  of 
the  carriage,  though  the  night  was  bitter  cold.  "  This  vehicle 
is  suffocating  me, — let  us  have  some  air.     See  how  the  stars 


THE   SORROWS  OF  SATAN  i6i 

are  shining  ! — like  great  crown  jewels — Deity's  regalia  ! 
Hard  frost,  like  hard  times,  brings  noble  works  into  promi- 
nence. Yonder,  far  off,  is  a  star  you  can  hardly  perceive ; 
red  as  a  cinder  at  times,  and  again  blue  as  the  lightning, — 
I  can  always  discover  it,  though  many  cannot.  It  is  Algol, 
— judged  by  superstitious  folk  to  be  an  evil  star.  I  love  it 
chiefly  on  account  of  its  bad  reputation, — it  is  no  doubt 
much  maligned.  It  may  be  a  cold  quarter  of  hell  where 
weeping  spirits  sit  frozen  in  ice  made  of  their  own  congealed 
tears, — or  it  may  be  a  preparatory  school  for  Heaven — who 
knows  !  Yonder,  too,  shines  Venus, — your  star,  Geoffrey  ! — 
for  you  are  in  love,  my  friend  ! — come  confess  it !  are  you 
not?" 

"I  am  not  sure,"  I  answered  slowly.  ''The  phrase  'in 
love'  scarcely  describes  my  present  feeling  ..." 

''You  have  dropped  these,"  he  said  suddenly,  picking  up 
a  fast  fading  knot  of  violets  from  the  floor  of  the  brougham 
and  holding  them  towards  me.  He  smiled,  as  I  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  annoyance.  They  were  Lady  Sibyl's  flowers 
which  I  had  inadvertently  let  fall,  and  I  saw  he  knew  it.  I 
took  them  from  his  hand  in  silence. 

"My  dear  fellow,  do  not  try  to  hide  your  intentions  from 
your  best  friend,"  he  said  seriously  and  kindly.  "You 
wish  to  marry  the  Earl  of  Elton's  beautiful  daughter,  and 
you  shall.  Trust  me  ! — I  will  do  everything  I  can  to  promote 
your  desire. ' ' 

"You  will?"  I  exclaimed  with  unconcealed  delight,  for  I 
fully  recognised  the  influence  he  had  over  Sibyl's  father. 

"I  will, — I  promise,"  he  answered  gravely.  "I  assure 
you  that  such  a  marriage  would  be  one  after  my  own  heart. 
I'll  do  all  I  can  for  you, — and  I  have  made  many  matches  in 
my  time. ' ' 

My  heart  beat  high  with  triumph, — and  when  we  parted 
that  night  I  wrung  his  hand  fervently,  and  told  him  I  was 
devoutly  grateful  to  the  fates  for  sending  me  such  a  good 
friend  as  he  was. 

/  14* 


i62  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

**  Grateful  to — whom  did  you  say?"  he  asked  with  a  whim- 
sical look. 

''To  the  Fates!" 

"Are  you  really?  They  are  very  ugly  sisters  I  believe. 
Perhaps  they  were  your  ghostly  visitors  of  last  night !" 

''God  forbid  !"  I  ejaculated. 

"  Ah  !  God  never  forbids  the  fulfilment  of  His  own  laws  !" 
he  answered.    "  To  do  so  He  would  have  to  destroy  Himself." 

"  If  He  exists  at  all !"  I  said  carelessly. 

"True!     If—!" 

And  with  this,  we  separated  to  our  different  quarters  in  the 
*  Grand.' 


XV 

After  that  evening  I  became  a  regular  and  welcome  visitor 
at  Lord  Elton's  house,  and  was  soon  on  terms  of  the  most 
friendly  intimacy  with  all  the  members  of  his  family,  including 
even  the  severely  pious  Miss  Charlotte  Fitzroy.  It  was  not 
difficult  for  me  to  see  that  my  matrimonial  aspirations  were 
suspected, — and  though  the  encouragement  I  received  from 
Lady  Sibyl  herself  was  so  slight  as  to  make  me  doubtful 
whether,  after  all,  my  hopes  of  winning  her  would  ever  be 
realized,  the  Earl  made  no  secret  of  his  delight  at  the  idea  of 
securing  me  as  a  son-in-law.  Such  wealth  as  mine  was  not  to 
be  met  with  every  day, — and  even  had  I  been  a  blackleg  of 
the  turf,  or  a  retired  jockey,  instead  of  an  'author,'  I  should, 
with  five  millions  at  my  back,  have  been  considered  quite  as 
desirable  a  suitor  for  the  Lady  Sibyl's  hand.  Rimanez  scarcely 
ever  went  with  me  to  the  Eltons'  now,  pleading  as  excuse  much 
pressing  business  and  many  social  engagements.  I  was  not 
altogether  sorry  for  this.  Greatly  as  I  admired  and  honoured 
him,  his  extraordinary  physical  beauty  and  fascination  of  man- 
ner were  in  dangerous  contrast  to  my  merely  '  ordinary  good- 
looking'  personality,  and  it  seemed  to  me  impossible  that  any 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  163 

woman,  seeing  much  of  him,  could  be  expected  to  give  me  the 
preference.  All  the  same  I  had  no  fear  that  he  would  ever 
voluntarily  become  my  rival, — his  antipathy  to  women  was  too 
deep-rooted  and  sincere  for  that.  On  this  point  indeed  his 
feelings  were  so  strong  and  passionate,  that  I  often  wondered 
why  the  society  sirens  who  eagerly  courted  his  attention  re- 
mained so  blind  and  unconscious  to  the  chill  cynicism  that 
lurked  beneath  his  seeming  courtesy, — the  cutting  satire  that 
was  coupled  with  apparent  compliment,  and  the  intensity  of 
hatred  that  flamed  under  the  assumed  expression  of  admiring 
homage  in  his  flashing  eyes.  However,  it  was  not  my  business 
to  point  out  to  those  who  could  not  or  would  not  see,  the  end- 
less peculiarities  of  my  friend's  variable  disposition.  I  did 
not  pay  much  heed  to  them  even  so  far  as  I  myself  was  con- 
cerned, for  I  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  quick  changes  he 
was  wont  to  ring  on  all  the  gamut  of  human  feeling,  and 
absorbed  in  my  own  life-schemes  I  did  not  trouble  myself  to 
intimately  study  the  man  who  had  in  a  couple  of  months 
become  my  fidus  Achates.  I  was  engrossed  at  the  moment  in 
doing  all  I  could  to  increase  the  Earl  of  Elton's  appreciative 
sense  of  my  value  as  a  man  and  a  millionaire,  and  to  this  end 
I  paid  some  of  his  pressing  debts,  lent  him  a  large  sum  of 
money  without  demanding  interest  or  promise  of  repayment, 
and  stocked  his  cellar  with  presents  of  such  rare  old  wines 
as  he  had  not  been  able  to  afl"ord  to  purchase  for  himself 
for  many  years.  Thus  was  confidence  easily  engendered  be- 
tween us,  even  to  that  point  of  affection  which  displayed  itself 
in  his  lordship's  readiness  to  thrust  his  arm  through  mine  when 
we  sauntered  together  down  Piccadilly,  and  his  calling  me 
'  my  dear  boy'  in  public.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  bewildered 
amazement  of  the  scrubby  little  editor  of  a  sixpenny  magazine 
who  met  me  face  to  face  thus  accompanied  in  the  Park  one 
morning  !  That  he  knew  the  Earl  of  Elton  by  sight  was  evi- 
dent, and  that  he  also  knew  me,  his  apoplectic  stare  confessed. 
He  had  pompously  refused  to  even  read  any  of  my  offered 
contributions  on  the   ground   that   I   had  '  no  name,' — and 


i64  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

now ! — he  would  have  given  a  month's  salary  if  I  had  but 
condescended  to  recognize  him.  I  did  not  so  condescend, — 
but  passed  him  by,  listening  to,  and  laughing  with  my  intended 
future  father-in-law,  who  was  retailing  an  extremely  ancient 
joke  for  my  benefit.  The  incident  was  slight,  even  trumpery, 
— yet  it  put  me  in  a  good  humour,  for  one  of  the  chiefest 
pleasures  I  had  out  of  my  wealth  was  the  ability  to  repay  with 
vengeful  interest  all  the  contempt  and  insult  that  had  beaten 
me  back  from  every  chance  of  earning  a  livelihood  while  I 
was  poor. 

In  all  my  visits  to  the  Eltons,  I  never  saw  the  paralyzed 
Countess  again.  Since  the  last  terrible  visitation  of  her  dread 
disease,  she  had  not  moved.  She  merely  lived  and  breathed 
— no  more.  Lord  Elton  told  me  that  the  worst  part  of  her 
illness  at  present,  so  far  as  it  affected  those  who  had  to  attend 
upon  her,  was  the  particularly  hideous  alteration  of  her  face. 

''The  fact  is,"  he  said,  not  without  a  shudder,  "she's 
dreadful  to  look  at, — positively  dreadful ! — no  longer  human, 
you  know.  She  used  to  be  a  lovely  woman, — now  she  is 
literally  frightful.  Her  eyes  especially ; — they  are  as  scared 
and  wild  as  if  she  had  seen  the  devil.  Quite  an  awful  ex- 
pression I  assure  you  ! — and  it  never  alters.  The  doctors  can 
do  nothing — and  of  course  it's  very  trying  for  Sibyl,  and  for 
everybody. ' ' 

I  assented  sympathetically  ;  and  realizing  that  a  house  hold- 
ing such  a  figure  of  living  death  within  it  must  of  necessity  be 
more  or  less  gloomy  and  depressing  to  a  young  and  vigorous 
nature,  I  lost  no  opportunity  of  giving  Lady  Sibyl  whatever 
slight  pleasures  were  in  my  power  to  procure  for  her  distrac- 
tion and  entertainment.  Costly  flowers,  boxes  for  the  opera 
and  '  first  nights'  at  the  play, — every  sort  of  attention  that  a 
man  can  pay  to  a  woman  without  being  considered  officious  or 
intrusive  I  offered,  and  was  not  repulsed.  Everything  pro- 
gressed well  and  favourably  towards  the  easy  attainment  of  my 
wishes, — I  had  no  difficulties,  no  troubles  of  any  kind,  and 
I  voluntarily  led  a  life  of  selfishly  absorbed  personal  gratifica- 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  165 

tion,  being  commended  and  encouraged  therein  by  a  whole 
host  of  flatterers  and  interested  acquaintances.  Willowsmere 
Court  was  mine ;  and  every  newspaper  in  the  kingdom  had 
commented  on  the  purchase,  in  either  servile  or  spiteful  para- 
graphs. My  lawyers  had  warmly  congratulated  me  on  the 
possession  of  so  admirable  a  property  which  they,  in  strict 
accordance  with  what  they  conceived  to  be  their  duty,  had 
personally  inspected  and  approved.  The  place  was  now  in 
the  hands  of  a  firm  of  decorators  and  furnishers,  recommended 
by  Rimanez,  and  it  was  expected  to  be  in  perfect  order  for 
my  habitation  in  early  summer,  at  which  time  I  purposed 
entertaining  a  large  house-party  of  more  or  less  distinguished 
people. 

Meantime,  what  I  had  once  considered  would  be  the  great 
event  of  my  life,  took  place, — namely  the  publication  of  my 
book.  Trumpeted  forth  by  the  most  heraldic  advertisements, 
it  was  at  last  launched  on  the  uncertain  and  fluctuating  tide  of 
public  favour,  and  special  *  advance'  copies  were  sent  to  the 
office  of  every  magazine  and  journal  in  London.  The  day 
after  this  was  done,  Lucio,  as  I  now  familiarly  called  him, 
came  into  my  room  with  a  mysterious  and  mischievous  air. 

"  Geoffrey,"  he  said,  "Vm  going  to  lend  you  five  hundred 
pounds ! ' ' 

I  looked  up  with  a  smile. 

'^What  for?" 

He  held  out  a  cheque  towards  me.  Glancing  at  it  I  saw 
that  the  sum  he  mentioned  was  filled  in  and  endorsed  with  his 
signature,  but  that  the  name  of  the  person  to  whom  the  money 
was  to  be  made  payable,  had  not  yet  been  written. 

"Well  ?— What  does  it  mean?" 

*^It  means,"  replied  he,  "that  I  am  going  to  see  Mr 
McWhing  this  morning.  I  have  an  appointment  with  him 
at  twelve.  You,  as  Geoffrey  Tempest,  the  author  of  the 
book  Mr  McWhing  is  going  to  criticise  and  make  a  *  boom' 
of,  could  not  possibly  put  your  name  to  such  a  cheque.  It 
would  not  be  'good  form'  —  it  might  crop  up  afterwards  and 


i66  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

so  betray  '  the  secrets  of  the  prison-house.'  But  for  me  it 
is  another  affair.  I  am  going  to  *  pose'  as  your  business- 
man— your  *  literary  agent'  who  pockets  ten  per  cent  of  the 
profits,  and  wants  to  make  a  '  big  thing'  out  of  you,  and  I'm 
going  to  talk  the  matter  over  with  the  perfectly  practical 
McWhing  who  has,  like  every  true  Scot,  a  keen  eye  for  the 
main  chance.  Of  course  it  will  be  in  confidence, — strict 
confidence  !"  and  he  laughed.  "  It's  aU  a  question  of  busi- 
ness you  know, — in  these  commercial  days,  literature  has 
become  a  trade  like  everything  else,  and  even  critics  only 
work  for  what  pays  them.  As  indeed  why  should  tliey 
not?" 

''Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  McWhing  will  take  that  five 
hundred?"     I  asked  dubiously. 

"  I  mean  to  tell  you  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  would  not  put 
the  matter  so  coarsely  for  the  world  !  This  money  is  not  for 
McWhing, — it  is  for  a  literary  charity." 

"  Indeed  !  I  thought  you  had  an  idea  perhaps  of  offering 
a  bribe  .  .  ." 

'* Bribe!  Good  Heavens!  Bribe  a  critic!  Impossible, 
my  good  Geoffrey  ! — such  a  thing  was  never  heard  of — 
never,  never,  never!"  and  he  shook  his  head  and  rolled  up 
his  eyes  with  infinite  solemnity.  "  No,  no  !  Press  people 
never  take  money  for  anything, — not  even  for  'booming'  a 
new  gold-mining  company, — not  even  for  putting  a  notice  of 
a  fashionable  concert  into  the  Morning  Post.  Everything 
in  the  English  press  is  the  just  expression  of  pure  and  lofty 
sentiment,  believe  me  !  This  little  cheque  is  for  a  charity 
of  which  Mr  McWhing  is  chief  patron, — you  see  the  Civil 
List  pensions  all  go  by  favour  to  the  wrong  persons  now-a- 
days ;  to  the  keeping  of  lunatic  versifiers,  and  retired  ac- 
tresses who  never  could  act— the  actual  bona-fide  'genius' 
never  gets  anything  out  of  Government,  and  moreover  would 
scorn  to  take  a  farthing  from  that  penurious  body,  which 
grudges  him  anything  higher  than  a  money-recognition.  It 
is  as  great  an  insult  to  offer  a  beggarly  pension  of  fifty  or  a 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  167 

hundred  pounds  a  year  to  a  really  great  writer,  as  to  give  him 
a  knighthood, — and  we  cannot  fall  much  lower  than  to  be  a 
knight,  as  knights  go.  The  present  five  hundred  pounds  will 
help  to  relieve  certain  *  poor  and  proud'  but  pressing  literary 
cases  known  to  McWhing  alone!"  His  expression  at  this 
moment  was  so  extraordinary,  that  I  entirely  failed  to  fathom 
it.  "I  have  no  doubt  I  shall  be  able  to  represent  the  benev- 
olent and  respectable  literary  agent  to  perfection — of  course  I 
shall  insist  on  my  ten  per  cent!" — and  he  began  laughing 
again.  **  But  I  can't  stop  to  discuss  the  matter  now  with  you 
— I'm  off.  I  promised  McWhing  to  be  with  him  at  twelve 
o'clock  precisely,  and  it's  now  half- past-eleven.  I  shall  prob- 
ably lunch  with  him,  so  don't  wait  for  me.  And  concerning 
the  five  hundred,  you  needn't  be  in  my  debt  an  hour  longer 
than  you  like — I'll  take  a  cheque  for  the  money  back  from 
you  this  evening." 

*' All  right,"  I  said.  "  But  perhaps  the  great  oracle  of  the 
cliques  will  reject  your  proposals  with  scorn." 

''If  he  does,  then  is  Utopia  realized!"  replied  Lucio, 
carefully  drawing  on  his  gloves  as  he  spoke.  ''  Where's  a  copy 
of  your  book?  Ah,  here's  one,  smelling  newly  of  the 
press,"  and  he  slipped  the  volume  into  his  overcoat  pocket. 
*' Allow  me,  before  departure,  to  express  the  opinion  that  you 
are  a  singularly  ungrateful  fellow  Geoffrey  !  Here  am  I,  per- 
fectly devoted  to  your  interests, — and  despite  my  '  prince- 
dom' actually  prepared  to  '  pose'  to  McWing  as  your  '  acting 
manager'  pro  tern,  and  you  haven't  so  much  as  a  '  thank-you' 
to  throw  at  me  ! ' ' 

He  stood  before  me  smiling,  the  personification  of  kindness 
and  good  humour.     I  laughed  a  little. 

''  McWhing  will  never  take  you  for  an  acting  manager  or 
literary  agent,"  I  said.  "You  don't  look  it.  If  I  seem 
churlish,  I'm  sorry — but  the  fact  is  I  am  disgusted  .   .   ."    * 

''At  what?"  he  inquired,  still  smiling. 

"Oh,  at  the  humbug  of  everything,"  I  answered  impa- 
tiently;  "the  stupid  farce  of  it  all.      Why  shouldn't  a  book 


1 68  THE   SORROWS  OF    SATAN 

get  noticed  on  its  own  merits  without  any  appeal  to  cliqiiism 
and  influential  wire-pulling  on  the  press  ?' ' 

''  Exactly  !"  and  he  delicately  flicked  a  grain  of  dust  off"  his 
coat  while  speaking.  "  And  why  shouldn't  a  man  get  received 
in  society  on  his  own  merits,  without  any  money  to  recom- 
mend him,  or  any  influential  friend  to  back  him  up?" 

I  was  silent. 

"The  world  is  as  it  is  made,"  he  went  on,  regarding  me 
fixedly.  "It  is  moved  by  the  lowest  and  pettiest  motives, — it 
works  for  the  most  trivial,  ridiculous,  and  perishable  aims.  It 
is  not  a  paradise.  It  is  not  a  happy  family  of  united  and 
affectionate  brethren.  It  is  an  over-populated  colony  of  jab- 
bering and  quarrelsome  monkeys,  who  fancy  they  are  men. 
Philosophers  in  old  days  tried  to  teach  it  that  the  monkey- 
type  should  be  exterminated  for  the  growth  and  encouragement 
of  a  nobler  race,but  they  preached  in  vain, — there  never  were 
enough  real  men  alive  to  overcome  the  swarming  majority  of 
the  beasts.  God  Himself,  they  say,  came  down  from  Heaven 
to  try  and  set  wrong  things  right,  and  to  restore  if  possible 
His  own  defaced  image  to  the  general  aspect  of  humanity, — 
and  even  He  failed." 

"  There  is  very  little  of  God  in  this  world,"  I  said  bitterly. 
"There  is  much  more  Devil !" 

He  smiled, — a  musing,  dreamy  smile  that  transfigured  his 
countenance  and  made  him  look  like  a  fine  Apollo  absorbed  in 
the  thought  of  some  new  and  glorious  song. 

"  No  doubt !"  he  said,  after  a  little  pause.  "  Mankind  cer- 
tainly prefer  the  devil  to  any  other  deity, — therefore  if  they 
elect  him  as  their  representative,  it  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered 
at  that  he  governs,  where  he  is  asked  to  govern.  And  yet — 
do  you  know,  Geoffrey — this  devil, — if  there  is  one, — can 
hardly,  I  think,  be  quite  so  bad  as  his  detractors  say.  I  my- 
self don't  believe  he  is  a  whit  worse  than  a  nineteenth-century 
financier  !" 

I  laughed  aloud  at  the  comparison. 

"After  that,"  I  said,  "you  had  better  go  to  McWhing.      I 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  169 

hope  you  will  tell  him  that  I  am  the  triple  essence  of  all  the 
newest  'discoveries'  rolled  into  one." 

''  Never  fear  !"  returned  Lucio.  "I've  learned  all  my  stock- 
phrases  by  heart, — a  'star  of  the  first  magnitude,'  etc., — I've 
read  the  AthcncEiiDi  till  I've  got  the  lingo  of  the  literary  auc- 
tioneer well-nigh  perfect,  and  I  believe  I  shall  acquit  myself 
admirably.     Au  revoir  !" 

He  was  gone ;  and  I,  after  a  little  desultory  looking  over 
my  papers,  went  out  to  lunch  at  Arthur's,  of  whic  h  club  I  was 
now  a  member.  On  my  way  I  stopped  to  look  in  at  a  book- 
seller's window  to  see  if  my  '  immortal'  production  was  yet  on 
show.  It  was  not, — and  the  volume  put  most  conspicuously 
to  the  front  among  all  the  '  newest  books'  was  one  entitled 
'  Differences.  By  Mavis  Clare.'  Acting  on  a  sudden  impulse 
I  went  in  to  purchase  it. 

"  Has  this  a  good  sale  !"  I  asked,  as  the  volume  was  handed 
to  me. 

The  clerk  at  the  counter  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"Sale?"  he  echoed,  "Well,  I  should  think  so— rather ! 
Why,  everybody's  reading  it !" 

"Indeed;"  and  I  turned  over  the  uncut  pages  carelessly. 
"  I  see  no  allusion  whatever  to  it  in  the  papers." 

The  clerk  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  No — and  you're  not  likely  to,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Clare 
is  too  popular  to  need  reviews.  Besides,  a  large  number  of 
the  critics,  the  'log-rollers'  especially,  are  mad  against  her 
for  her  success,  and  the  public  know  it.  Only  the  other  day 
a  man  came  in  here  from  one  of  the  big  newspaper  offices 
aud  told  me  he  was  taking  a  iQ\w  notes  on  the  books  which 
had  the  largest  sales, — would  I  tell  him  which  author's  works 
were  most  in  demand  ?  I  said  Miss  Clare  took  the  lead, — 
as  she  does, — and  he  got  into  a  regular  rage.  Said  he, 
'That's  the  answer  I've  had  all  along  the  line,  and  however 
true  it  is,  it's  no  use  to  me,  because  I  dare  not  mention  it. 
My  editor  would  instantly  scratch  it  out — he  hates  Miss 
Clare.'      'A    precious  editor    you've    got!'      I    said,    and  he 

H  15 


lyo  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

looked  rather  queer.     There's  nothing  like  journalism,   sir, 
for  the  suppression  of  truth  !" 

I  smiled,  and  went  away  with  my  purchase,  convinced  that 
I  had  wasted  a  few  shillings  on  a  mere  piece  of  woman's 
trash.  If  this  Mavis  Clare  was  indeed  so  'popular,'  then  her 
work  must  naturally  be  of  the  '  penny  dreadful'  order,  for  I, 
like  many  another  literary  man,  laboured  under  the  ludicrous 
inconsistency  of  considering  the  public  an  '  ass'  while  I  myself 
desired  nothing  so  much  as  the  said  'ass's'  applause  and 
approval ! — and  therefore  I  could  not  imagine  it  capable  of 
voluntarily  selecting  for  itself  any  good  work  of  literature 
without  guidance  from  the  critics.  Of  course  I  was  wrong  ; 
the  great  masses  of  the  public  in  all  nations  are  always  led  by 
some  instinctive  sense  of  right,  that  moves  them  to  reject  the 
false  and  unworthy,  and  select  the  true.  Completely  pre- 
pared, like  most  men  of  my  type,  to  sneer  and  cavil  at  the 
book,  chiefly  because  it  was  written  by  a  feminine  hand,  I  sat 
down  in  a  retired  corner  of  the  club  reading-room,  and  began 
to  cut  and  skim  the  pages.  I  had  not  read  many  sentences 
before  my  heart  sank  with  a  heavy  sense  of  fear  and, — 
jealousy! — the  slow  fire  of  an  insidious  envy  began  to 
smoulder  in  my  mind.  What  power  had  so  gifted  this 
author — this  mere  woman — that  she  should  dare  to  write 
better  than  I !  And  that  she  should  force  me,  by  the  magic 
of  her  pen  to  mentally  acknowledge,  albeit  with  wrath  and 
shame,  my  own  inferiority  !  Clearness  of  thought,  brilliancy 
of  style,  beauty  of  diction,  all  these  were  hers,  united  to  con- 
summate ease  of  expression  and  artistic  skill, — and  all  at  once, 
in  the  very  midst  of  reading,  such  a  violent  impulse  of  in- 
sensate rage  possessed  me  that  I  flung  the  book  down, 
dreading  to  go  on  with  it.  The  potent,  resistless,  unpurchas- 
able  quality  of  Genius  ! — ah,  I  was  not  yet  so  blinded  by  my 
own  conceit  as  to  be  unable  to  recognise  that  divine  fire 
when  I  saw  it  flashing  up  from  every  page,  as  I  saw  it  now  ; 
but,  to  be  compelled  to  give  that  recognition  to  a  woman  i 
work,    galled   and    irritated    me   almost   beyond    endurance. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  171 

Women,  I  considered,  should  be  kept  in  their  places  as  men's 
drudges  or  toys, — as  wives,  mothers,  nurses,  cooks,  menders 
of  socks  and  shirts,  and  housekeepers  generally, — what  right 
had  they  to  intrude  into  the  realms  of  art  and  snatch  the 
laurels  from  their  masters'  brows?  If  I  could  but  get  the 
chance  of  reviewing  this  book,  I  thought  to  myself  savagely  ! 
I  would  misquote,  misrepresent,  and  cut  it  to  shreds  with  a 
joy  too  great  for  words!  This  Mavis  Clare — *unsexed,'  as 
I  at  once  called  her  in  my  own  mind,  simply  because  she 
had  the  power  I  lacked — wrote  what  she  had  to  say  with  a 
gracious  charm,  freedom,  and  innate  consciousness  of  strength, 
— a  strength  w^hich  forced  me  back  upon  myself  and  filled 
me  with  the  bitterest  humiliation.  Without  knowing  her  I 
hated  her, — this  woman  who  could  win  fame  without  the  aid 
of  money,  and  who  was  crowned  so  brightly  and  visibly  to 
the  world  that  she  was  beyond  criticism.  I  took  up  her  book 
again,  and  tried  to  cavil  at  it, — over  one  or  two  dainty  bits  of 
poetic  simile  and  sentiment  I  laughed, — enviously.  When  I 
left  the  club  later  in  the  day,  1  took  the  book  with  me, 
divided  between  a  curious  desire  to  read  it  honestly  through, 
with  justice  to  it  and  its  author,  and  an  impulse  to  tear  it 
asunder  and  fling  it  into  the  road  to  be  crushed  in  the  mud 
under  rolling  cab  and  cart  wheels.  In  this  strange  humour 
Rimanez  found  me,  when  at  about  four  o'clock  he  returned 
from  his  mission  to  David  McWhing,  smiling  and — triumphant. 

"  Congratulate  me,  Geoffrey  !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  entered 
my  room.  "Congratulate  me,  and  yourself!  I  am  minus 
the  five  hundred  pound  cheque  I  showed  you  this  morning  !" 

''McWhing  has  pocketed  it  tlien,"  I  said  sullenly.  "All 
right !     Much  good  may  it  do  him,  and  his  'charity'  !" 

Rimanez  gave  me  a  quick  observant  glance. 

"Why,  what  has  happened  to  you  since  we  parted?"  he 
inquired,  throwing  off  his  overcoat  and  sitting  down  opposite 
to  me.  "  You  seem  out  of  temper  !  Yet  you  ought  to  be  a 
perfectly  happy  man — for  your  highest  ambition  is  about  to  be 
gratified.     You  said  you  wished  to  make  your  book  and  your 


172  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

self  '  the  talk  of  London,' — well,  within  the  next  two  or  three 
weeks  you  will  see  yourself  praised  in  a  very  large  number  of 
influential  newspapers  as  the  newest  discovered  *  genius'  of  the 
day,  only  a  little  way  removed  from  Shakespeare  himself  (three 
of  the  big  leading  magazines  are  guaranteed  to  say  that),  and 
all  this  through  the  affability  of  Mr  McWhing  and  the  trifling 
sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  !  And  are  you  not  satisfied  ? 
Really,  my  friend,  you  are  becoming  difficult ! — I  warned  you 
that  loo  much  good  fortune  spoils  a  man." 

With  a  sudden  movement  I  flung  down  Mavis  Clare's  book 
before  him. 

"  Look  at  this,"  I  said.  "  Does  j-/z<?  pay  five  hundred  pounds 
to  David  McWhing's  charity?" 

He  took  up  the  volume  and  glanced  at  it. 

'*  Certainly  not.  But  then, — she  gets  slandered,  not  criti- 
cised!" 

''What  does  that  matter!"  I  retorted.  "The  man  from 
whom  I  bought  this  book  says  that  everybody  is  reading  it." 

''Exactly  !"  and  Rimanez  surveyed  me  with  a  curious  ex- 
pression, half  of  pity,  half  of  amusement.  "But  you  know 
the  old  axiom,  my  dear  Geoffrey? — *  you  may  lead  a  horse  to 
the  water  but  you  cannot  make  him  drink.'  Which  statement, 
interpreted  for  the  present  occasion,  means  that  though  cer- 
tain log-rollers,  headed  by  our  estimable  friend  McWhing, 
may  drag  the  horse — i.e.  the  public — up  to  their  own  particu- 
larly prepared  literary  trough,  they  cannot  force  it  to  swallow 
the  mixture.  The  horse  frequently  turns  tail  and  runs  away 
in  search  of  its  own  provender, — it  has  done  so  in  the  case  of 
Miss  Clare.  When  the  public  choose  an  author  for  themselves, 
it  is  a  dreadful  thing  of  course  for  other  authors, — but  it  really 
can't  be  helped  !" 

"Why  should  they  choose  Mavis  Clare?"  I  demanded 
gloomily. 

"Ah,  why  indeed  !"  he  echoed  smiling.  "  McWhing  would 
tell  you  they  do  it  out  o-f  sheer  idiotcy  ; — the  public  would 
answer  that  they  choose  her  because  she  has  genius." 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  173 

**  Genius!"  I  repeated  scornfully.  *'The  public  are  per- 
fectly incapable  of  recognising  such  a  quality  !" 

"You  think  so  !"  he  said  still  smiling — "  you  really  think 
so?  In  that  case  it's  very  odd  isn't  it,  how  everything  that 
is  truly  great  in  art  and  literature  becomes  so  widely  known 
and  honoured,  not  only  in  this  country,  but  in  every  civilized 
land  where  people  think  or  study  ?  You  must  remember  that 
all  the  very  famous  men  and  women  have  been  steadily 
'written  down'  in  their  day,  even  to  the  late  English  Lau- 
reate, Tennyson,  who  was  *  criticised'  for  the  most  part  in 
the  purest  '  Billingsgate'  ; — it  is  only  the  mediocrities  who 
are  ever  '  written  up.'  It  seems  as  if  the  stupid  public  really 
had  a  hand  in  selecting  these  'great,'  for  the  reviewers  would 
never  stand  them  at  any  price,  till  driven  to  acknowledge 
them  by  the  popular  force  inajeure.  But  considering  the  bar- 
barous want  of  culture  and  utter  foolishness  of  the  public, 
Geoffrey,  what  /  wonder  at,  is  that  you  should  care  to  appeal 
to  it  at  all!" 

I  sat  silent, — inwardly  chafing  under  his  remarks. 

*'I  am  afraid,"  he  resumed,  rising  and  taking  a  white 
flower  from  one  of  the  vases  on  the  table  to  pin  in  his  button- 
hole, "  that  Miss  Clare  is  going  to  be  a  thorn  in  your  side, 
my  friend  !  A  man  rival  in  literature  is  bad  enough, — but 
a  woman  rival  is  too  much  to  endure  with  any  amount  of 
patience  !  However,  you  may  console  yourself  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  she  will  never  get  'boomed,' — while  you — thanks 
to  my  tender  fostering  of  the  sensitive  and  high-principled 
McWhing,  will  be  the  one  delightful  and  unique  '  discovery' 
of  the  press  for  at  least  one  month,  perhaps  two,  which  is 
about  as  long  as  any  '  new  star  of  the  first  magnitude'  lasts  in 
the  latter-day  literary  skies.  Shooting-stars,  all  of  them  ! — 
such  as  poor  old  forgotten  Beranger  sang  of — 

"  les  etoiles  qui  filent,  - 
'  Qui  filent, — qui  filent — at  disparait !'  " 

•--*    "    i 

"Except — Mavis  Clare  !"  I  said. 

15* 


174  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

''True!  Except  Ma vi^Cla^e  !"  and  he  laughed  aloud, — 
a  laugh  that  jarred  upon  me  because  there  was  a  note  of 
mockery  in  it.  ''  She  is  a  small  fixture  in  the  vast  heavens, — 
or  so  it  seems, — revolving  very  contentedly  and  smoothly 
in  her  own  appointed  orbit, — but  she  is  not,  and  never  will 
be  attended  by  the  brilliant  meteor-flames  that  will  burst 
round  you^  my  excellent  fellow,  at  the  signal  of  McWhing ! 
Fie,  Geoffrey! — get  over  your  sulks  !  Jealous  of  a  woman  ! 
Be  ashamed, — is  not  woman  the  inferior  creature  !  and  shall 
the  mere  spectre  of  a  feminine  fame  cause  a  five-fold  million- 
aire to  abase  his  lofty  spirit  in  the  dust  ?  Conquer  your  strange 
fit  of  the  spleen,  Geoffrey,  and  join  me  at  dinner !" 

He  laughed  again  as  he  left  the  room, — and  again  his 
laughter  irritated  me.  When  he  had  gone,  I  gave  way  to  the 
base  and  unworthy  impulse  that  had  for  some  minutes  been 
rankling  within  me,  and  sitting  down  at  my  writing  table, 
penned  a  hasty  note  to  the  editor  of  a  rather  powerful  maga- 
zine, a  man  whom  I  had  formerly  known  and  worked  for.  He 
was  aware  of  my  altered  fortunes,  and  the  influential  position 
I  now  occupied,  and  I  felt  confident  he  would  be  glad  to 
oblige  me  in  any  matter  if  he  could.  My  letter,  marked 
^private  and  confidential,'  contained  the  request  that  I  might 
be  permitted  to  write  for  his  next  number,  an  anonymous 
'slashing'  review  of  the  new  novel  entitled  'Differences'  by 
Mavis  Clare. 


XVI 

It  is  almost  impossible  for  me  to  describe  the  feverish, 
irritated  and  contradictory  state  of  mind  in  which  I  now 
began  to  pass  my  days.  With  the  absolute  fixity  of  my 
fortunes,  my  humours  became  more  changeful  than  the  wind, 
and  I  was  never  absolutely  contented  for  two  hours  together. 
I  joined  in  every  sort  of  dissipation  common  to  men  of  the 
day,  who  with  the  usual  inanity  of  noodles,  plunged  into  the 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  175 

filth  of  life  merely  because  to  be  morally  dirty  was  also  at  the 
moment  fashionable,  and  much  applauded  by  society.  I 
gambled  recklessly,  solely  for  the  reason  that  gambling  was 
considered  by  many  leaders  of  the  '  upper  ten'  as  indicative 
of  'manliness'  and  'showing^;-//." 

**  I  hate  a  fellow  who  grudges  losing  a  few  pounds  at  play," 
said  one  of  these  *  distinguished'  titled  asses  to  me  once.  ''  It 
shows  such  a  cowardly  and  currish  disposition." 

Guided  by  this  '  new'  morality,  and  wishing  to  avoid  the 
possibility  of  being  called  "  cowardly  and  currish,"  I  indulged 
in  baccarat  and  other  ruinous  games  almost  every  night, 
willingly  losing  the  '  few  pounds,'  which  in  my  case  meant  a 
few  hundreds,  for  the  sake  of  my  occasional  winnings,  which 
placed  a  number  of  '  noble'  rakes  and  blue-blooded  blacklegs 
in  my  power  for  '  debts  of  honour,'  which  are  supposed  to  be 
more  strictly  attended  to  and  more  punctually  paid  than  any 
debts  in  the  world,  but  which,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  are 
still  owing.  I  also  betted  heavily,  on  everything  that  could  be 
made  the  subject  of  a  bet, — and  not  to  be  behind  my  peers 
in  '  style'  and  '  knowledge  of  the  world'  I  frequented  low 
houses,  and  allowed  a  few  half-nude  brandy-soaked  dancers 
and  vulgar  music-hall  'artistes'  to  get  a  couple  of  thousand 
pounds  worth  of  jewels  out  of  me,  because  this  sort  of  thing 
was  called  '  seeing  life'  and  was  deemed  part  of  a  '  gentle- 
man's' diversion.  Heavens  ! — what  beasts  we  all  were,  I  and 
my  aristocratic  boon  companions  ! — what  utterly  worthless, 
useless,  callous  scoundrels  ! — and  yet, — we  associated  with  the 
be.^t  and  the  highest  in  the  land  ;  — the  fairest  and  noblest  ladies 
in  London  received  us  in  their  houses  with  smiles  and  softly- 
worded  flatteries — we — whose  presence  reeked  with  vice ;  we, 
*  young  men  of  fashion'  whom,  if  he  had  known  our  lives  as 
they  were,  an  earnest  cobbler  working  patiently  for  daily  bread 
might  have  spat  upon,  in  contempt  and  indignation  that  such 
low  rascals  should  be  permitted  to  burden  the  earth  !  Some- 
times, but  very  seldom,  Prince  Rimanez  joined  our  gambling 
and  music-hall  parties,  and  on  such  occasions  I  noticed  that 


176  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

he,  as  it  were,  '  let  himself  go'  and  became  the  wildest  of  us 
all.  But  though  wild,  he  was  never  coarse, — as  we  were  ;  his 
deep  and  mellow  laughter  had  a  sonorous  richness  in  it  that 
was  totally  unlike  the  donkey's  '  hee-haw'  of  our  *  cultured' 
mirth, — his  manners  were  never  vulgar ;  and  his  fluent  discourse 
on  men  and  things,  now  witty  and  satirical,  now  serious  almost 
to  pathos,  strangely  affected  many  of  those  who  heard  him  talk, 
myself  most  of  all.  Once,  I  remember,  when  we  were  returning 
late  from  some  foolish  carouse, — I,  with  three  young  sons  of 
English  peers,  and  Rimanez  walking  beside  us, — we  came  upon 
a  poorly  clad  girl  sobbing  and  clinging  to  the  iron  railing 
outside  a  closed  church  door. 

''O  God!"  she  wailed— "  O  dear  God!     Do  help  me?" 

One  of  my  companions  seized  her  by  the  arm  with  a  lewd 
jest,  when  all  at  once  Rimanez  stepped  between. 

"  Leave  her  alone  !"  he  said  sternly.  *'  Let  her  find  God, 
if  she  can  ! ' ' 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  terrified,  her  eyes  streaming  with 
tears,  and  he  dropped  two  or  three  gold  pieces  into  her  hand. 
She  broke  out  crying  afresh. 

' '  Oh,  God  bless  you  ?' '  she  cried  wildly.    ' '  God  bless  you  ! ' ' 

He  raised  his  hat  and  stood  uncovered  in  the  moonlight,  his 
dark  beauty  softened  by  a  strangely  wistful  expression. 

*'I  thank  you!"  he  said  simply.  *'You  make  me  your 
debtor." 

And  he  passed  on ;  we  followed,  somewhat  subdued 
and  silenced,  though  one  of  my  lordling  friends  sniggered 
idiotically. 

"You  paid  dearly  for  that  blessing,  Rimanez!"  he  said. 
"You  gave  her  three  sovereigns; — by  Jove  !  I'd  have  had 
something  more  than  a  blessing  if  I  had  been  you." 

"No  doubt!"  returned  Rimanez.  "You  deserve  more, — • 
much  more  !  I  hope  you  will  get  it  !  A  blessing  would  be  of 
no  advantage  whatever  Xo you  ;—\\.  is,  to  vie.'^ 

How  often  I  have  thought  of  this  incident  since  !  I  was  too 
dense  to  attach  either  meaning  or  importance  to  it  then, — self- 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  177 

absorbed  as  I  was,  I  paid  no  attention  to  circumstances  which 
seemed  to  have  no  connection  with  my  own  life  and  affairs. 
And  in  all  my  dissipations  and  so-called  amusements,  a  perpet- 
ual restlessness  consumed  me, — I  obtained  no  real  satisfaction 
out  of  anything  except  my  slow  and  somewhat  tantalizing  court- 
ship of  Lady  Sibyl.  She  was  a  strange  girl ;  she  knew  my  in- 
tentions towards  her  well  enough  ;  yet  she  affected  not  to  know. 
Each  time  I  ventured  to  treat  her  with  more  than  the  usual 
deference,  and  to  infuse  something  of  the  ardour  of  a  lover 
into  my  looks  or  manner,  she  feigned  surprise.  I  wonder  why 
it  is  that  some  women  are  so  fond  of  playing  the  hypocrite  in 
love  ?  Their  own  instinct  teaches  them  when  men  are  amorous  ; 
but  unless  they  can  run  the  fox  to  earth,  or  in  other  words,  re- 
duce their  suitors  to  the  lowest  pitch  of  grovelling  appeal,  and 
force  them  to  such  abasement  that  the  poor  passion-driven 
fools  are  ready  to  fling  away  life,  and  even  honour,  dearer 
than  life,  for  their  sakes,  their  vanity  is  not  sufficiently  gratified. 
But  who,  or  what  am  I  that  I  should  judge  of  vanity, — I  whose 
egregious  and  flagrant  self-approbation  was  of  such  a  character 
that  it  blinded  me  to  the  perception  and  comprehension  of 
everything  in  which  my  own  Ego  Avas  not  represented  !  And 
yet, — with  all  the  morbid  interest  I  took  in  myself,  my  sur- 
roundings, my  comfort,  my  social  advancement,  there  was 
one  thing  which  soon  became  a  torture  to  me, — a  veritable 
despair  and  loathing, — and  this,  strange  to  say  was  the  very 
triumph  I  had  most  looked  forward  to  as  the  crown  and  sum- 
mit of  all  my  ambitious  dreams.  My  book, — the  book  I  had 
presumed  to  consider  a  work  of  genius, — when  it  was  launched 
on  the  tide  of  publicity  and  criticism,  resolved  itself  into  a  sort 
of  literary  monster  that  haunted  my  days  and  nights  with  its 
lustful  presence  ;  the  thick,  black-lettered,  lying  advertisements 
scattered  broadcast  by  my  publisher  flared  at  me  with  an  offen- 
sive insistence  in  every  paper  I  casually  opened.  And  the 
praise  of  the  reviewers  !  .  .  .  the  exaggerated,  preposterous, 
fraudulent '  boom'  !  Good  God  ! — how  sickening  it  was  ! — how 
fulsome  1    Every  epithet  of  flattery  bestowed  upon  me  filled  me 


178  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

with  disgust,  and  one  day  when  I  took  up  a  leading  magazine 
and  saw  a  long  article  upon  the  '  extraordinary  brilliancy  and 
promise'  of  my  book,  comparing  me  to  a  new  ^schylus  and 
Shakespeare  combined,  with  the  signature  of  David  McWhing 
appended  to  it,  I  could  have  thrashed  that  erudite  and 
assuredly  purchased  Scot  within  an  inch  of  his  life.  The 
chorus  of  eulogy  was  well-nigh  universal ;  I  was  the  '  genius 
of  the  day,'  the  'hope  of  the  future  generation,' — I  was  the 
"  Book  of  the  Month," — the  greatest,  the  wittiest,  most  versa- 
tile, most  brilliant  scribbling  pigmy  that  had  ever  honoured  a 
pot  of  ink  by  using  it !  Of  course  I  figured  as  McWhing's 
'  discovery,' — five  hundred  pounds  bestowed  on  his  mysterious 
'  charity'  had  so  sharpened  his  eyesight  that  he  had  perceived 
me  shining  brightly  on  the  literary  horizon  before  anyone 
else  had  done  so.  The  press  followed  his  '  lead'  obediently  ; 
for  though  the  press,  the  English  press  at  least,  is  distinctly 
unbribable,  the  owners  of  newspapers  are  not  insensible  to  the 
advantages  of  largely  paying  advertisements.  Moreover,  when 
Mr.  McWhing  announced  me  as  his  '  find'  in  the  oracular 
style  which  distinguished  him,  some  other  literary  gentlemen 
came  forward  and  wrote  effective  articles  about  me,  and  sent 
me  their  compositions  carefully  marked.  I  took  the  hint, — 
wrote  at  once  to  thank  them,  and  invited  them  to  dinner. 
They  came  and  feasted  royally  with  Rimanez  and  myself; — 
(one  of  them  wrote  an  '  Ode'  to  me  afterwards), — and  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  revels,  we  sent  two  of  the  '  oracles'  home, 
considerably  overcome  by  champagne,  in  a  carriage,  with 
Amiel  to  look  after  them  and  help  them  out  at  their  own 
doors.  And  my  '  boom'  expanded, — London  '  talked'  as  I  had 
said  it  should  ;  the  growling  monster  metropolis  discussed  me 
and  my  work  in  its  own  independent  and  peculiar  fashion. 
The  '  upper  ten'  subscribed  to  the  circulating  libraries,  and 
Mudie  made  a  couple  of  hundred  copies  do  for  all  demands, 
by  the  simple  expedient  of  keeping  subscribers  waiting  five 
or  six  weeks  till  they  grew  tired  of  asking  for  the  book,  and 
forgot  all  about  it.     Apart  from  the  libraries,  the  public  did 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  179 

not  take  me  up.  From  the  glowing  criticisms  that  appeared 
in  all  the  papers,  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  *  everybody 
who  was  anybody'  was  reading  my  '  wonderful'  production. 
Such,  however,  was  not  the  case.  People  spoke  of  me  as  '  the 
great  millionaire,'  but  they  were  indifferent  to  the  bid  I  had 
made  for  literary  fame.  The  remark  they  usually  made  to 
me  wherever  I  went  was — "  You  have  written  a  novel,  haven't 
you?  What  an  odd  thing  for  you  to  do!" — this,  with  a 
laugh  ; — "■  I  haven't  read  it, — I've  so  little  time, — I  must  ask 
for  it  at  the  library. ' '  Of  course  a  great  many  never  did  ask, 
not  deeming  it  worth  their  while ;  and  I  whose  money,  com- 
bined with  the  resistless  influence  of  Rimanez,  had  started 
the  favourable  criticisms  that  flooded  the  press,  found  out 
that  the  majority  of  the  public  never  read  criticisms  at  all. 
Hence,  my  anonymous  review  of  Mavis  Clare's  book  made 
no  effect  whatever  on  her  popularity,  though  it  appeared  in 
the  most  prominent  manner.  It  was  a  sheer  waste  of  labour, 
— for  everywhere  this  woman  author  was  still  looked  upon  as 
a  creature  of  altogether  finer  clay  than  ordinary,  and  still  her 
book  was  eagerly  devoured  and  questioned  and  admired ;  and 
still  it  sold  by  thousands,  despite  a  lack  of  all  favourable 
criticism  or  prominent  advertisement.  No  one  guessed  that 
I  had  written  what  I  am  now  perfectly  willing  to  admit  was  a 
brutally  wanton  misrepresentation  of  her  work, — no  one, 
except  Rimanez.  The  magazine  in  which  it  appeared  was  a 
notable  one,  circulating  in  every  club  and  library,  and  he, 
taking  it  up  casually  one  afternoon,  turned  to  that  article  at 
once. 

''You  wrote  this!"  he  said,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  me. 
''  It  must  have  been  a  great  relief  to  your  mind  !" 

I  said  nothing. 

He  read  on  in  silence  for  a  little ;  then,  laying  down  the 
magazine,  looked  at  me  with  a  curiously  scrutinizing  expres- 
sion. 

''There  are  some  human  beings  so  constituted,"  he  said, 
"  that  if  they  had  been  with  Noah  in  the  ark  according  to  the 


i8o  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

silly  old  legend,  they  would  have  shot  the  dove  bearing  the 
olive-leaf,  directly  it  came  in  sight  over  the  waste  of  waters. 
You  are  of  that  type,  Geoffrey." 

*'  I  do  not  see  the  force  of  your  comparison,"  I  murmured. 

*'Do  you  not?  Why,  what  harm  has  this  Mavis  Clare 
done  to  you?  Your  positions  are  entirely  opposed.  You  are 
a  millionaire ;  she  is  a  hard-working  woman  dependent  on 
her  literary  success  for  a  livelihood,  and  you,  rolling  in  wealth 
do  your  best  to  deprive  her  of  the  means  of  existence.  Does 
this  redound  to  your  credit  ?  She  has  won  her  fame  by  her 
own  brain  and  energy  alone, — and  even  if  you  dislike  her 
book,  need  you  abuse  her  personally  as  you  have  done  in 
this  article?  You  do  not  know  her;  you  have  never  seen 
her  .  .   ." 

''  I  hate  women  who  write  !"  I  said  vehemently. 

''Why?  Because  they  are  able  to  exist  independently? 
Would  you  have  them  all  the  slaves  of  man's  lust  or  conve- 
nience? My  dear  Geoffrey,  you  are  unreasonable  If  you 
admit  that  you  are  jealous  of  this  woman's  celebrity  and 
grudge  it  to  her,  then  I  can  understand  your  spite,  for  jealousy 
is  capable  of  murdering  a  fellow-creature  with  either  the 
dagger  or  the  pen." 

I  was  silent. 

**  Is  the  book  such  wretched  stuff  as  you  make  it  out  to  be?" 
he  asked  presently. 

"I  suppose  some  people  might  admire  it,"  I  said  curtly; 
"I  do  not." 

This  was  a  lie  ;  and  of  course  he  knew  it  was  a  lie.  The 
work  of  Mavis  Clare  had  excited  my  most  passionate  envy — 
while  the  very  fact  that  Sibyl  Elton  had  read  her  book  before 
she  had  thought  of  looking  at  mine,  had  accentuated  the 
bitterness  of  my  feelings. 

**  Well,"  said  Rimanez  at  last,  smiling  as  he  finished  read- 
ing my  onslaught,  "all  I  can  say,  Geoffrey,  is  that  this  will 
not  touch  Mavis  Clare  in  the  least.  You  have  overshot  the 
mark,   my  friend  !      Her  public  will   simply  cry,   '  What  a 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  i8i 

shame  !'  and  clamour  for  her  work  more  than  ever.  And  as 
for  the  woman  herself, — she  has  a  merry  heart,  and  she  will 
laugh  at  it.     You  must  see  her  some  day." 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  her,"  I  said. 

"  Probably  not.  But  you  will  scarcely  be  able  to  avoid 
doing  so  when  you  live  at  Willowsmere  Court." 

"  One  is  not  obliged  to  know  everybody  in  the  neighbour- 
hood," I  observed  superciliously. 

Lucio  laughed  aloud. 

*'  How  well  you  carry  your  fortunes,  Geoffrey  !"  he  said. 
"  For  a  poor  devil  of  a  Grub-street  hack,  who  lately  was  at  a 
loss  for  a  sovereign,  how  perfectly  you  follow  the  fashions  of 
your  time  !  If  there  is  one  man  more  than  another  that 
moves  me  to  wondering  admiration  it  is  he  who  asserts  his 
wealth  strenuously  in  the  face  of  his  fellows,  and  who  com- 
ports himself  in  this  world  as  though  he  could  bribe  death 
and  purchase  the  good-will  of  the  Creator.  It  is  such  splendid 
effrontery, — such  superlative  pride  !  Now  I,  though  over- 
wealthy  myself,  am  so  curiously  constituted  that  I  cannot  wear 
my  bank-notes  in  my  countenance  as  it  were, — I  have  put  in 
a  claim  for  intellect  as  well  as  gold, — and  sometimes,  do  you 
know,  in  my  travels  round  the  world,  I  have  been  so  far  hon- 
oured as  to  be  taken  for  quite  a  poor  man!  Now  you  will 
never  have  that  chance  again  ; — you  are  rich  and  you  look  it !" 

"  And  you, — "  I  interrupted  him  suddenly,  and  with  some 
warmth, — *'  do  you  know  what  you  look?  You  imply  that  I 
assert  my  wealth  in  my  face ;  do  you  know  wha.t  you  assert  in 
your  every  glance  and  gesture?" 

"  I  cannot  imagine  !"  he  said  smiling. 

"  Contempt  for  us  all !"  I  said, — "  immeasurable  contempt, 
— even  for  me,  whom  you  call  friend.  I  tell  you  the  truth 
Lucio, — there  are  times  when,  in  spite  of  our  intimacy,  I  feel 
that  you  despise  me.  I  daresay  you  do  ;  you  have  an  extraor- 
dinary personality  united  to  extraordinary  talents ;  yon  must 
not,  however,  expect  all  men  to  be  as  self-restrained  and  as  in- 
different to  human  passions  as  yourself." 

i6 


i82  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

He  gave  me  a  swift,  searching  glance. 

"  Expect !"  he  echoed.  ''  My  good  fellow,  I  expect  nothing 
at  all, — from  men.  They,  on  the  contrary, — at  least  all  those 
/  know, — expL'ct  everything  from  me.  And  they  get  it, — 
generally.  As  for  *  despising'  you,  have  I  not  said  that  I 
admire  you  ?  I  do.  I  think  there  is  something  positively 
stupendous  in  the  brilliant  progress  of  your  fame  and  rapid 
social  success." 

''My  fame!"  I  repeated  bitterly.  ''How  has  it  been  ob- 
tained ?     What  is  it  worth  ?" 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  he  retorted,  with  a  little 
smile.  "  How  unpleasant  it  must  be  for  you  to  have  these 
gouty  twinges  of  conscience,  Geoffrey  !  Of  course  no  fame  is 
actually  worth  much  now-a-days, — because  it  is  not  classic 
fame,  strong  in  reposeful  old-world  dignity, — it  is  blatant, 
noisy  notoriety  merely.  But  yours,  such  as  it  is,  is  perfectly 
legitimate,  judged  by  its  common-sense  commercial  aspect, 
which  is  the  only  aspect  in  which  anyone  looks  at  anything. 
You  must  bear  in  mind  that  no  one  works  out  of  disin- 
terestedness in  the  present  age, — no  matter  how  purely 
benevolent  an  action  may  appear  on  the  surface.  Self  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  it.  Once  grasp  this  fact,  and  you  will 
perceive  that  nothing  could  be  fairer  or  more  straightforward 
than  the  way  you  have  obtained  your  fame.  You  have  not 
'  bought'  the  incorruptible  British  Press ;  you  could  not  do 
that ;  that  is  impossible,  for  it  is  immaculate  and  bristles 
stiffly  all  over  with  honourable  principles.  There  is  no  English 
paper  existing  that  would  accept  a  cheque  for  the  insertion 
of  a  notice  or  a  paragraph;  not  one!"  His  eyes  twinkled 
merrily, — then  he  went  on, — "No, — it  is  only  the  Foreign 
Press  that  is  corrupt,  so  the  British  Press  says ; — John  Bull 
looks  on  virtuously  aghast  at  journalists  who,  in  dire  stress  of 
poverty,  will  actually  earn  a  little  extra  pay  for  writing  some- 
thing or  somebody  '  up'  or  '  down.*  Thank  Heaven,  he  em- 
ploys no  such  journalists  ;  his  pressmen  are  the  very  soul  of 
rectitude,  and  will  stoically  subsist  on  a  pound  a  week  rather 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  183 

than  take  ten  for  a  casual  job  ^  to  oblige  a  friend.'  Do  you 
know,  Geoffrey,  when  the  Judgment  Day  arrives,  who  will  be 
among  the  first  saints  to  ascend  to  Heaven  with  the  sounding 
of  trumpets  ?" 

I  shook  my  head,  half  vexed,  half  amused. 

"  All  the  English  (not  foreign)  editors  and  journalists!" 
said  Lucio  with  an  air  of  pious  rapture.  "  And  why?  Be- 
cause they  are  so  good,  so  just,  so  unprejudiced  !  Their 
foreign  brethren  will  be  reserved  for  the  eternal  dance  of  devils 
of  course — bnt  the  Britishers  will  pace  the  golden  streets 
singing  Alleluia  !  I  assure  you  I  consider  British  journalists 
generally  the  noblest  examples  of  incorruptibility  in  the 
world — they  come  next  to  the  clergy  as  representatives  of 
virtue,  and  exponents  of  the  three  evangelical  counsels, — 
voluntary  poverty,  chastity,  and  obedience  !"  Such  mockery 
glittered  in  his  eyes,  that  the  light  in  them  might  have  been 
the  reflection  of  clashing  steel.  "  Be  consoled,  Geoffrey,"  he 
resumed, — "  your  fame  is  honourably  won.  You  have  simply, 
through  me,  approached  one  critic  who  writes  in  about 
twenty  newspapers  and  influences  others  to  write  in  other 
twenty, — that  critic  being  a  noble  creature  (all  critics  are 
noble  creatures),  has  a  pet  '  society'  for  the  relief  of  authors 
in  need  (a  noble  scheme  you  will  own),  and  to  this  charity  I 
subscribe,  out  of  pure  benevolence,  five  hundred  pounds. 
Moved  by  my  generosity  and  consideration  (particularly  as  I 
do  not  ask  what  becomes  of  the  five  huudred),  McWhing 
'  obliges'  me  in  a  little  matter.  The  editors  of  the  papers  for 
which  he  writes  accept  him  as  a  wise  and  witty  personage ; 
they  know  nothing  about  the  charity  or  the  cheque, — it  is  not 
necessary  for  them  to  know.  The  whole  thing  is  really  quite 
a  reasonable  business  arrangement ; — it  is  only  a  self-torment- 
ing analyst  like  you  who  would  stop  to  think  of  such  a  trifle  a 
second  time." 

"  If  McWhing  really  and  conscientiously  admired  my  book 
for  itself, ' '  I  began. 

''Why  should   you  imagine  he  does  not?"  asked  Lucio. 


i84  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

*'  Myself,  I  believe  that  he  is  a  perfectly  sincere  and  honorable 
man.  I  think  he  means  all  he  says  and  writes.  I  consider 
that  if  he  had  found  your  work  not  worthy  of  his  commenda- 
tion, he  would  have  sent  me  back  that  cheque  for  five  hundred 
pounds,  torn  across  in  a  noble  scorn  !" 

And  with  this,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  he 
laughed  till  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

But  I  could  not  laugh;  I  was  too  weary  and  depressed.  A 
heavy  sense  of  despair  was  on  my  mind  ;  I  felt  that  the  hope 
which  had  cheered  me  in  my  days  of  poverty, — the  hope  of 
winning  real  Fame,  so  widely  different  a  thing  to  notoriety, 
had  vanished.  There  was  some  quality  in  the  subtle  glory 
which  could  not  be  won  by  either  purchase  or  influence.  The 
praise  of  the  press  could  not  give  it.  Mavis  Clare,  working 
for  her  bread,  had  it, — I,  with  millions  of  money,  had  not. 
Like  a  fool  I  had  thought  to  buy  it ;  I  had  yet  to  learn  that 
all  the  best,  greatest,  purest  and  worthiest  things  in  life  are 
beyond  all  market  value,  and  that  the  gifts  of  the  gods  are  not 
for  sale. 

About  a  fortnight  after  the  publication  of  my  book,  we  went 
to  Court,  my  comrade  and  I,  and  were  presented  by  a  dis- 
tinguished officer  connected  with  the  immediate  and  intimate 
surroundings  of  the  Royal  household.  It  was  a  brilliant  scene 
enough, — but,  without  doubt,  the  most  brilliant  personage 
there  was  Rimanez.  I  was  fairly  startled  at  the  stately  and 
fascinating  figure  he  made  in  his  court  suit  of  black  velvet  and 
steel  ornaments  ;  accustomed  as  I  was  to  his  good  looks,  I  had 
never  seen  them  so  enhanced  by  dress  as  on  this  occasion.  I 
had  been  tolerably  well  satisfied  with  my  own  appearance  in 
the  regulation  costume  till  I  saw  him  ;  then  my  personal 
vanity  suffered  a  decided  shock,  and  I  realized  that  I  merely 
served  as  a  foil  to  show  off  and  accentuate  the  superior  at- 
tractions of  my  friend.  But  I  was  not  envious  of  him  in  any 
way, — on  the  contrary  I  openly  expressed  the  admiration  I 
frankly  felt. 

He  seemed  amused.      '*  My  dear  boy,  it  is  all  flunkeydom," 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  185 

he  said, — ''all  sham  and  humbug.  Look  at  this," — and  he 
drew  his  light  court  rapier  from  its  sheath, — "  there  is  no  real 
use  in  this  flimsy  blade, — it  is  merely  an  emblem  of  dead 
chivalry.  In  old  times,  if  a  man  insulted  you,  or  insulted  a 
woman  you  admired,  out  flashed  a  shining  point  of  tempered 
Toledo  steel  that  could  lunge — so!"  and  he  threw  himself 
into  a  fencing  attitude  of  incomparable  grace  and  ease, — "  and 
you  pricked  the  blackguard  neatly  through  the  ribs  or  arm 
and  gave  him  cause  to  remember  you.  But  now" — and  he 
thrust  the  rapier  back  in  its  place — "  men  carry  toys  like  these 
as  a  melancholy  sign  to  show  what  bold  fellows  they  were  once, 
and  what  spiritless  cravens  they  are  now, — relying  no  more 
on  themselves  for  protection,  but  content  to  go  about  yelling 
'  Police  !  Police  !'  at  the  least  threat  of  injury  to  their  worth- 
less persons.  Come,  it's  time  we  started,  Geoffrey  ! — let  us 
go  and  bow  our  heads  before  another  human  unit  formed  pre- 
cisely like  ourselves,  and  so  act  in  defiance  of  Death  and  the 
Deity,  who  declare  all  men  to  be  equal ! ' ' 

We  entered  our  carriage  and  were  soon  on  our  way  to  St 
James's  Palace. 

''His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales  is  not  exactly 
the  Creator  of  the  universe,"  said  Lucio  suddenly,  looking 
out  of  the  window  as  we  approached  the  line  of  soldiery  on 
guard  outside. 

"  Why,  no  1"  I  answered  laughing.  "  What  do  you  say  that 
for?" 

"  Because  there  is  as  much  fuss  about  him  as  if  he  were, — 
in  fact,  more.  The  Creator  does  not  get  half  as  much  atten- 
tion bestowed  upon  Him  as  Albert  Edward.  We  never  attire 
ourselves  in  any  special  way  for  entering  the  presence  of  God  ; 
we  don't  put  so  much  as  a  clean  mind  on." 

"But  then,"  I  said  indifferently,  "God  is  /ion  est, — and 
Albert  Edward  is  est.'' 

He  smiled, — and  his  eyes  had  a  scornful  gleam  in  their  dark 
centres. 

"That  is  your  opinion?"    he  queried.      "Well,  it  is  not 

16* 


1 86  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

original, — many  choice  spirits  share  it  with  you.  There  is  at 
least  one  good  excuse  for  people  who  make  no  preparation  to 
enter  the  presence  of  God, — in  going  to  church,  which  is 
called  the  '  house  of  God,'  they  do  not  find  God  at  all ;  they 
only  discover  the  clergyman.  It  is  somewhat  of  a  disappoint- 
ment." 

I  had  no  time  to  reply,  as  just  then  the  carriage  stopped, 
and  we  alighted  at  the  palace.  Through  the  intervention  of 
the  high  Court  official  who  presented  us,  we  got  a  good  place 
among  the  most  distinguished  arrivals,  and  during  our  brief 
wait,  I  was  considerably  amused  by  the  study  of  their  faces 
and  attitudes.  Some  of  the  men  looked  nervous, — others  con- 
ceited ;  one  or  two  Radical  notabilities  comported  themselves 
with  an  air  as  if  they,  and  they  alone,  were  to  be  honoured  for 
allowing  Royalty  to  hold  these  functions  at  all ;  a  few  gentle- 
men had  evidently  donned  their  Levee  dress  in  haste  and  care- 
lessness, for  the  pieces  of  tissue-paper  in  which  their  steel  or 
gilt  coat-buttons  had  been  wrapped  by  the  tailor  to  prevent 
tarnish,  were  still  unremoved.  Discovering  this  fortunately 
before  it  was  too  late,  they  occupied  themselves  by  taking  off 
these  papers  and  casting  them  on  the  floor, — an  untidy  process 
at  best,  and  one  that  made  them  look  singularly  ridiculous 
and  undignified.  Each  man  present  turned  to  stare  at  Lucio  ; 
his  striking  personality  attracted  universal  attention.  When 
we  at  last  entered  the  throne-room,  and  took  our  places  in 
line,  I  was  careful  to  arrange  that  my  brilliant  companion 
should  go  up  before  me,  as  I  had  a  strong  desire  to  see  what 
sort  of  an  effect  his  appearance  would  produce  on  the  Royal 
party.  I  had  an  excellent  view  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  from 
where  I  myself  waited ;  he  made  an  imposing  and  kingly 
figure  enough,  in  full  uniform  with  his  various  Orders  glitter- 
ing on  his  broad  breast;  and  the  singular  resemblance  dis- 
covered by  many  people  in  him  to  Henry  VHI.  struck  me 
more  forcibly  than  I  should  have  thought  possible.  His  face, 
however,  expressed  a  far  greater  good-humour  than  the  pictured 
lineaments  of  the  capricious  but  ever  popula|-j '' bluff  King 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  187 

Ha1," — though  on  this  occasion  there  was  a  certain  shade  of 
melancholy,  even  sternness  on  his  brow,  which  gave  a  firmer 
character  to  his  naturally  mobile  features, — a  shadow,  as  I 
fancied  of  weariness,  tempered  with  regret, — the  look  of  one 
dissatisfied,  yet  resigned.  A  man  of  blunted  possibilities  he 
seemed  tome, — of  defeated  aims,  and  thwarted  will.  Few  of 
the  other  members  of  the  Ro3al  family  surrounding  him  on 
the  dais  possessed  the  remarkable  attraction  he  had  for  any 
observant  student  of  physiognomy, — most  of  them  were,  or 
assumed  to  be,  stiff  military  figures  merely,  who  bent  their 
heads  as  each  guest  filed  past  with  an  automatic  machine- 
like regularity  implying  neither  pleasure,  interest,  nor  good- 
will. But  the  Heir-Apparent  to  the  greatest  Empire  in  the 
world  expressed,  in  his  very  attitude  and  looks,  an  unaf- 
fected and  courteous  welcome  to  all, — surrounded  as  he 
was,  and  as  such  in  his  position  must  ever  be,  by  toadies, 
parasites,  sycophants,  hypocritical  selfseekers,  who  would 
never  run  the  least  risk  to  their  own  lives  to  serve  him, 
unless  they  could  get  something  personally  satisfactory  out 
of  him,  his  presence  impressed  itself  upon  me  as  suggestive 
of  dormant  but  none  the  less  resolute  power.  I  cannot  even 
now  explain  the  singular  excitation  of  mind  that  seized  me  as 
our  turn  to  be  presented  arrived  ; — I  saw  my  companion  ad- 
vance, and  heard  the  Lord  Chamberlain  announce  his  name ; 
'Prince  Lucio  Rimanez;'  and  then; — why  then,  it  seemed 
as  if  all  the  movement  in  the  brilliant  room  suddenly  came  to 
a  pause  !  Every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  stately  form  and  noble 
countenance  of  my  friend  as  he  bowed  with  such  consummate 
courtliness  and  grace  as  made  all  other  salutations  seem  awk- 
ward by  comparison.  For  one  moment  he  stood  absolutely 
still  in  front  of  the  Royal  dais ;  facing  the  Prince  as  though 
he  sought  to  impress  him  with  the  fact  of  his  presence  there, — 
and  across  the  broad  stream  of  sunshine  which  had  been  pour- 
ing into  the  room  throughout  the  ceremony,  there  fell  the 
sudden  shadow  of  a  passing  cloud.  A  fleeting  impression  of 
gloom  and  silence  chilled  the  atmosphere,— a  singular  mag- 


1 88  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

netism  appeared  to  hold  all  eyes  fixed  on  Rimanez ;  and  not 
a  man  either  going  or  coming,  moved.  This  intense  hush 
was  brief  as  it  was  curious  and  impressive ; — the  Prince  of 
Wales  started  slightly,  and  gazed  at  the  superb  figure  before 
him  with  an  expression  of  eager  curiosity,  and  almost  as  if  he 
were  ready  to  break  the  frigid  bonds  of  etiquette  and  speak, — 
then  controlling  himself  with  an  evident  effort,  he  gave  his 
usual  dignified  acknowledgment  of  Lucio's  profound  rever- 
ence, whereupon  my  comrade  passed  on,  slightly  smiling.  I 
followed  next, — but  naturally  made  no  impression  beyond  the 
fact  of  exciting  a  smothered  whisper  from  someone  among 
the  lesser  Royalties  who  caught  the  name  '  Geoffrey  Tem- 
pest,' and  at  once  murmured  the  magic  words  ''Five  mil- 
lions!"— words  which  reached  my  ears  and  moved  me  to 
the  usual  weary  contempt  which  was  with  me  growing  into 
a  chronic  malady.  We  were  soon  out  of  the  palace,  and 
while  waiting  for  our  carriage  in  the  covered  court-yard 
entrance,  I  touched  Rimanez  on  the  arm. 
''You  made  a  veritable  sensation,  Lucio  !" 
"  Did  I?"  He  laughed.  "  You  flatter  me,  Geoffrey." 
"Not  at  all.  Why  did  you  stop  so  long  in  front  of  the 
dais?" 

"  To  please  my  humour  !"  he  returned  indifferently.  "And 
partly,  to  give  his  Royal  Highness  the  chance  of  remembering 
me  the  next  time  he  sees  me." 

"But  he  seemed  to  recognise  you,"  I  said.  "Have  you 
met  him  before  ?' ' 

His  eyes  flashed.  "Often!  But  I  have  never  till  now 
made  a  public  appearance  at  St  James's.  Court  costume 
and  '  company  manners'  make  a  difference  to  the  looks  of 
most  men,— and  I  doubt,— yes,  I  very  much  doubt,  whether, 
even  with  his  reputed  excellent  memory  for  faces,  the  Prince 
really  knew  me  to-day  for  what  I  am  ! " 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  189 


XVII 

It  must  have  been  about  a  week  or  ten  days  after  the  Levee 
that  I  had  the  strange  scene  with  Sibyl  Elton  I  am  about 
to  relate ;  a  scene  that  left  a  painful  impression  on  my  mind 
and  should  have  been  sufficient  to  warn  me  of  impending 
trouble  to  come  had  I  not  been  too  egotistical  to  accept  any 
portent  that  presaged  ill  to  myself.  Arriving  at  Lord  Elton's 
house  one  evening,  and  ascending  the  stairs  to  the  drawing- 
room  as  was  now  my  usual  custom,  unannounced  and  without 
ceremony,  I  found  Diana  Chesney  there  alone  and  in  tears. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  I  exclaimed  in  a  rallying  tone, 
for  I  was  on  very  friendly  and  familiar  terms  with  the  little 
American.  "  You,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  having  a  private 
*  weep'  !     Has  our  dear  railway  papa  '  bust  up'  ?" 

She  laughed,  a  trifle  hysterically. 

''  Not  just  yet,  you  bet !"  she  answered,  lifting  her  wet  eyes 
to  mine  and  showing  that  mischief  still  sparkled  brightly  in 
them.  "  There's  nothing  wrong  with  the  funds  as  far  as  I 
know.  I've  only  had  a — well — a  sort  of  rumpus  here  with 
Sibyl." 

"With  Sibyl?" 

"  Yes," — and  she  rested  the  point  of  her  little  embroidered 
shoe  on  a  footstool  and  looked  at  it  critically.  "  You  see  it's 
the  Catsups'  '  At  Home'  to-night,  and  I'm  invited  and  Sibyl's 
invited ;  Miss  Charlotte  is  knocked  up  with  nursing  the 
Countess,  and  I  of  course  made  sure  that  Sibyl  would  go. 
Well,  she  never  said  a  word  about  it  till  she  came  down  to 
dinner,  and  then  she  asked  me  what  time  I  wanted  the  car- 
riage. I  said,  '  Are  you  going  too  ?'  and  she  looked  at  me  in 
that  provoking  way  of  hers,  you  know  ! — a  look  that  takes  you  in 
from  your  topmost  hair  to  your  shoe-edge,  and  answered,  '■  Did 
you  think  it  possible  !'  Well,  I  flared  up,  and  said  of  course 
I  thought  it  possible, — why  shouldn't  it  be  possible?     She 


I90  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

looked  at  me  in  the  same  way  again  and  said,  '  To  the  Cat- 
sups ?  with  you  /'  Now,  you  know,  Mr  Tempest,  that  was 
real  downright  rudeness,  and  more  than  I  could  stand,  so  I  just 
gave  way  to  my  mind.  '  Look  here,  '  I  said — '  though  you  are 
the  daughter  of  an  Earl,  you  needn't  turn  up  your  nose  at 
Mrs  Catsup.  She  isn't  half  bad, — I  don't  speak  of  her 
money, — but  she's  a  real  good  sort,  and  has  a  kind  heart, 
which  it  appears  to  me  is  more  than  you  have.  Mrs  Catsup 
would  never  treat  me  as  unkindly  as  you  do.'  And  then  I 
choked, — I  could  have  burst  out  in  a  regular  yell,  if  I  hadn't 
thought  the  footman  might  be  outside  the  door,  listening. 
And  Sibyl  only  smiled,  that  patent  ice-refrigerator  smile  of 
hers,  and  asked,  *  Would  you  prefer  to  live  with  Mrs  Catsup  ?' 
Of  course  I  told  her  no, — nothing  would  induce  me  to  live 
with  Mrs  Catsup,  and  then  she  said,  '  Miss  Chesney,  you  pay 
my  father  for  the  protection  and  guarantee  of  his  name  and 
position  in  English  social  circles,  but  the  companionship  of 
my  father's  daughter  was  not  included  in  the  bargain.  I  have 
tried  to  make  you  understand  as  distinctly  as  I  can  that  I  will 
not  be  seen  in  society  with  you, — not  because  I  dislike  you, — 
far  from  it, — but  simply  because  people  would  say  I  was  acting 
as  your  paid  companion.  You  force  me  to  speak  plainly,  and 
I  am  sorry  if  I  offend.  As  for  Mrs  Catsup,  I  have  only  met 
her  once,  and  she  seemed  to  me  very  common  and  ill-bred. 
Besides  I  do  not  care  for  the  society  of  tradespeople.'  And 
with  that  she  got  up  and  sailed  out, — and  I  heard  her  order 
the  carriage  for  me  at  ten.  It's  coming  round  directly,  and 
just  look  at  my  red  eyes  !  It's  awfully  hard  on  me, — I  know 
old  Catsup  made  his  pile  out  of  varnish,  but  varnish  is  as  good 
as  anything  else  in  the  general  market.  And — and — it's  all 
out  now,  Mr  Tempest, — and  you  can  tell  Sibyl  what  I've  said 
if  you  like;  I  know  you're  in  love  with  her." 

I  stared,  bewildered  by  her  voluble  and  almost  breathless 
outburst. 

*' Really,  Miss  Chesney,"  I  began  formally. 

*'  Oh,  yeS;  Miss  Chesney,  Miss  Chesney — it's  all  very  well !" 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN'  191 

she  repeated  impatiently,  snatching  up  a  gorgeous  evening 
cloak  which  I  mutely  volunteered  to  put  on,  an  offer  she  as 
mutely  accepted.  ''I'm  only  a  girl,  and  it  isn't  my  fault  if 
I've  got  a  vulgar  man  for  a  father  who  wants  to  see  me 
married  to  an  English  nobleman  before  he  dies, — that's  his 
look-out — /  don't  care  about  it.  English  noblemen  are  a 
rickety  lot  in  my  opinion.  But  I've  as  good  a  heart  as  any- 
one, and  I  could  love  Sibyl  if  she'd  let  me,  but  she  won' t. 
She  leads  the  life  of  an  ice-berg,  and  doesn't  care  a  rap  for 
anyone.  She  doesn't  care  for  you,  you  know  ! — I  wish  she 
did, — she'd  be  more  human  !" 

"I'm  very  sorry  for  all  this,"  I  said,  smiling  into  the 
piquante  face  of  the  really  sweet-natured  girl,  and  gently 
fastening  the  jewelled  clasp  of  her  cloak  at  her  throat.  "  But 
you  mustn't  mind  it  so  much.  You  are  a  dear  little  soul, 
Diana, — kind  and  generous  and  impulsive,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it, — but — well — English  people  are  very  apt  to  misunderstand 
Americans.  I  can  quite  enter  into  your  feelings, — still,  you 
know  Lady  Sibyl  is  very  proud ' ' 

"Proud?"  she  interrupted.  "My!  I  guess  it  must  feel 
something  splendid  to  have  an  ancestor  who  was  piked  through 
the  body  on  Bosworth  field,  and  left  there  for  the  birds  to 
eat.  It  seems  to  give  a  kind  of  stiffness  in  the  back  to  all 
the  family  ever  afterwards.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  the  de- 
scendants of  the  birds  who  ate  him  felt  kinder  stuck  up  about 
it  too!" 

I  laughed ;  she  laughed  with  me,  and  was  quite  herself 
again. 

"  If  I  told  you  my  ancestor  was  a  Pilgrim  Father,  you 
wouldn't  believe  me  I  expect  !"  she  said,  the  corners  of  her 
mouth  dimpling. 

"I  should  believe  anything  from  your  lips!"  I  declared 
gallantly. 

"  Well,  believe  that,  then  !  Swallow  it  down  if  you  can  ! 
I  can't.  He  was  a  Pilgrim  Father  in  the  Mayflower,  and 
he  fell  on  his  knees  and  thanked  God  as  soon  as  he  touched 


192  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

dry  land  in   the   true   Pilgrim  Father  way.     But  he  couldn't 
hold  a  candle  to  the  piked  man  at  Bosworth." 

Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  footman. 

**  The  carriage  is  waiting,  Miss." 

**  Thanks, — all  right.  Good-night,  Mr  Tempest, — you'd 
better  send  word  to  Sibyl  you  are  here ;  Lord  Elton  is  dining 
out,  but  Sibyl  will  be  at  home  all  the  evening." 

I  offered  her  my  arm,  and  escorted  her  to  the  carriage, 
feeling  a  little  sorry  for  her  as  she  drove  off  in  solitary  state 
to  the  festive  '  crush'  of  the  successful  varnisher.  She  was  a 
good  girl,  a  bright  girl,  a  true  girl, — vulgar  and  flippant  at 
times,  yet  on  the  whole  sincere  in  her  better  qualities  of 
character  and  sentiment, — and  it  was  this  very  sincerity  which, 
being  quite  unconventional  and  not  at  all  la  mode,  was  mis- 
understood and  would  always  be  misunderstood  by  the  higher 
and  therefore  more  hypocritically  polished  circles  of  English 
society. 

I  returned  to  the  drawing-room  slowly  and  meditatively, 
telling  one  of  the  servants  on  my  way  to  ask  Lady  Sibyl  if  she 
could  see  me  for  a  few  moments.  I  was  not  kept  waiting 
long ;  I  had  only  paced  the  room  twice  up  and  down  when 
she  entered,  looking  so  strangely  wild  and  beautiful  that  I 
could  scarcely  forbear  uttering  an  exclamation  of  wonder. 
She  wore  white  as  was  always  her  custom  in  the  evenings, — 
her  hair  was  less  elaborately  dressed  than  usual,  and  clustered 
over  her  brow  in  loose  wavy  masses, — her  face  was  exceed- 
ingly pale,  and  her  eyes  appeared  larger  and  darker  by  com- 
parison,— her  smile  was  vague  and  fleeting  like  that  of  a  sleep- 
walker.    She  gave  me  her  hand ;  it  was  dry  and  burning. 

*'  My  father  is  out,"  she  began. 

'*  I  know.     But  I  came  to  see  j^//;.     May  I  stay  a  little?" 

She  murmured  assent,  and  sinking  listlessly  into  a  chair, 
began  to  play  with  some  roses  in  a  vase  on  the  table  beside 
her. 

*'  You  look  tired.  Lady  Sibyl,"  I  said  gently.  ''Are  you 
not  well?" 


THE    SORROWS   OF  SATAN  193 

"I  am  quite  well,"  she  answered.  "  But  you  are  right  in 
saying  I  am  tired.     I  am  dreadfully  tired  !" 

*' You  have  been  doing  too  much  perhaps? — your  attend- 
ance on  your  mother  tries  you " 

She  laughed  bitterly. 

"Attendance  on  my  mother  ! — pray  do  not  credit  me  with 
so  much  devotion.  I  never  attend  on  my  mother.  I  can- 
not do  it ;  I  am  too  much  of  a  coward.  Her  face  terrifies 
me ;  and  whenever  I  do  venture  to  go  near  her,  she  tries  to 
speak,  with  such  dreadful,  such  ghastly  efforts,  as  make  her 
more  hideous  to  look  at  than  anyone  can  imagine.  I  should 
die  of  fright  if  I  saw  her  often.  As  it  is  when  I  do  see  her 
I  can  scarcely  stand — and  twice  I  have  fainted  with  the 
horror  of  it.  To  think  of  it  ! — that  that  living  corpse  with 
the  fearful  fixed  eyes  and  distorted  mouth  should  actually  be 
my  77iother. ' ' 

She  shuddered  violently,  and  her  very  lips  paled  as  she 
spoke.     I  was  seriously  concerned,  and  told  her  so. 

''This  must  be  very  bad  for  your  health,"  I  said,  drawing 
my  chair  closer  to  hers.  ''Can  you  not  get  away  for  a 
change?" 

She  looked  at  me  in  silence.  The  expression  of  her  eyes 
thrilled  me  strangely, — it  was  not  tender  or  wistful,  but  fierce, 
passionate  and  commanding. 

"I  saw  Miss  Chesney  for  a  few  moments  just  now,"  I  re- 
sumed.     "  She  seemed  very  unhappy." 

"She  has  nothing  to  be  unhappy  about,"  said  Sibyl 
coldly — "except  the  time  my  mother  takes  in  dying.  But 
she  is  young ;  she  can  afford  to  wait  a  little  for  the  Elton 
coronet. ' ' 

"Is  not — may  not  this  be  a  mistaken  surmise  of  yours?" 
I  ventured  to  say  gently.  "  AVhatever  her  faults,  I  think  the 
girl  admires  and  loves  you." 

She  smiled  scornfully. 

"I  want  neither  her  love  nor  her  admiration,"  she  said. 
"I  have  few  women-friends,  and  those  few  are  all  hypocrites 
I        n  17 


194  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

whom  I  mistrust.  When  Diana  Chesney  is  my  step-mother,  we 
shall  still  be  strangers." 

I  felt  I  was  on  delicate  ground,  and  that  I  could  not  continue 
the  conversation  without  the  risk  of  giving  offence. 

*' W^here  is  yotir  friend?"  asked  Sibyl  suddenly,  apparently 
to  change  the  subject.  ''Why  does  he  so  seldom  come  here 
now?" 

*'  Rimanez?  Well,  he  is  a  very  queer  fellow,  and  at  times 
takes  an  abhorrence  for  all  society.  He  frequently  meets  your 
father  at  the  club,  and  I  suppose  his  reason  for  not  coming  here 
is  that  he  hates  women." 

"All  women?"  she  queried  with  a  little  smile. 

''  Without  exception  !" 

*'  Then  he  hates  me?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that,"  I  answered  quickly.  "  No  one  could 
hate  you.  Lady  Sibyl, — but  truly,  as  far  as  Prince  Rimanez  is 
concerned,  I  expect  he  does  not  abate  his  aversion  to  woman- 
kind (which  is  his  chronic  malady)  even  for  you." 

"  So  he  will  never  marry?"  she  said  musingly. 

I  laughed.  "Oh,  never!  That  you  may  be  quite  sure 
of." 

Still  playing  with  the  roses  near  her,  she  relapsed  into 
silence.  Her  breath  came  and  went  quickly ;  I  saw  her  long 
eyelashes  quiver  against  the  pale  rose-leaf  tint  of  her  cheeks, — 
the  pure  outline  of  her  delicate  profile  suggested  to  my  mind 
one  of  Fra  Angelico's  meditative  saints  or  angels.  All  at  once, 
while  I  yet  watched  her  admiringly,  she  suddenly  sprang  erect, 
crushing  a  rose  in  her  hand,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  eyes 
flashing,  her  whole  frame  trembling. 

"Oh,  I  cannot  bear  it!"  she  cried  wildly.  "I  cannot 
bear  it !" 

I  started  up  astonished,  and  confronted  her. 

"Sibyl!" 

"  Oh,  why  don't  you  speak,  and  fill  up  the  measure  of  my 
degradation  !"  she  went  on  passionately.  "  Why  don't  you  tell 
me,   as  you  tell  my  father,   your  purpose  in   coming  here? 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


195 


Why  don't  you  say  to  ;;/<?,  as  you  say  to  him,  that  your  sover- 
eign choice  has  fastened  upon  me, — that  I  am  the  woman  out 
of  all  the  world  you  have  elected  to  marry  !  Look  at  me  ! ' ' 
and  she  raised  her  arms  with  a  tragic  gesture.  "Is  there  any 
flaw  in  the  piece  of  goods  you  wish  to  purchase  ?  This  face 
is  deemed  worthy  of  the  fashionable  photographer's  pains ; 
worthy  of  being  sold  for  a  shilling  as  one  of  England's  '  beau 
ties,'— this  figure  has  served  as  a  model  for  the  showing- 
off  of  many  a  modiste's  costume,  purchased  at  half-cost  on 
the  understanding  that  I  must  state  to  my  circle  of  acquaint- 
ance the  name  of  the  maker  or  designer,  — these  eyes,  these 
lips,  these  arms  are  all  yours  for  the  buying  !  Why  do  you 
expose  me  to  the  shame  of  dallying  over  your  bargain  ? — by 
hesitating  and  considering  as  to  whether,  after  all,  I  am  worthy 
of  your  gold  !" 

She  seemed  seized  by  some  hysterical  passion  that  convulsed 
her,  and  in  mingled  amazement,  alarm  and  distress,  I  sprang 
to  her  and  caught  her  hands  in  my  own. 

''Sibyl,  Sibyl!"  I  said,  ''hush — hush!  You  are  over- 
wrought with  fatigue  and  excitement, — you  cannot  know  what 
you  are  saying.  My  darling,  what  do  you  take  me  for? — what 
is  all  this  nonsense  in  your  mind  about  buying  and  selling  ? 
You  know  I  love  you, — I  have  made  no  secret  of  it, — you 
must  have  seen  it  in  my  face, — and  if  I  have  hesitated  to 
speak,  it  is  because  I  feared  your  rejection  of  me.  You  are 
too  good  for  me  Sibyl, — too  good  for  any  man, — I  am  not 
worthy  to  win  your  beauty  and  innocence.  My  love,  my  love, 
do  not  give  way  in  this  manner," — for  as  I  spoke  she  clung 
to  me  like  a  wild  bird  suddenly  caged.  "  What  can  I  say  to 
you,  but  that  I  worship  you  with  all  the  strength  of  my  life, — 
I  love  you  so  deeply  that  I  am  afraid  to  think  of  it ;  it  is  a 
passion  I  dare  not  dwell  upon,  Sibyl, — I  love  you  too  well, — 
too  madly  for  my  own  peace " 

I  trembled,  and  was  silent, — her  soft  arms  clinging  to  me 
robbed  me  of  a  portion  of  my  self-control.  I  kissed  the 
rippling  waves  of  her  hair  ;  she  lifted  her  head  and  looked  up 


196  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

at  me,  her  eyes  alit  with  some  strange  lustre  that  was  not  love 
as  much  as  fear, — and  the  sight  of  her  beauty  thus  yielded  as 
it  were  to  my  possession,  broke  down  the  barriers  of  re^-traint 
I  had  hitherto  imposed  upon  myself.  I  kissed  her  on  the  lips, 
— a  long  passionate  kiss  that,  to  my  excited  fancy,  seemed  to 
mingle  our  very  beings  into  one, — but  while  I  yet  held  her  in 
my  arms,  she  suddenly  released  herself,  and  pushed  me  back. 
Standing  apart  from  me  she  trembled  so  violently  that  I  feared 
she  would  fall,  and  I  took  her  hand  and  made  her  sit  down. 
She  smiled, — a  very  wan  smile. 

''  What  did  you  feel  then?"  she  asked. 

"When,  Sibyl?" 

*'  Just  now, — when  you  kissed  me?" 

"All  the  joys  of  heaven  and  fires  of  hell  in  a  moment !"  I 
said. 

She  regarded  me  with  a  curious  musing  frown. 

"  Strange  !     Do  you  know  what  /felt?" 

I  shook  my  head  smiling,  and  pressed  my  lips  on  the  soft 
small  hand  I  held. 

"  Nothing  !"  she  said,  with  a  kind  of  hopeless  gesture.  "  I 
assure  you,  absolutely  nothing  !  I  cannot  feel.  I  am  one  of 
your  modern  women, — I  can  only  think, — and  analyze." 

"Think  and  analyze  as  much  as  you  will,  my  queen,"  I 
answered  playfully — "  if  you  will  only  think  you  can  be  happy 
with  me.     That  is  all  I  desire." 

"  Can  you  be  happy  with  me .?"  she  asked.  "  Wait — do  not 
answer  for  a  moment,  till  I  tell  you  what  I  am.  You  are 
altogether  mistaken  in  me."  She  was  silent  for  some  minutes, 
and  I  watched  her  anxiously.  "  I  was  always  intended  for 
this,"  she  said  slowly  at  last, — "this,  to  which  I  have  now 
come, — to  be  the  property  of  a  rich  man.  Many  men  have 
looked  at  me  with  a  view  to  purchase,  but  they  could  not  pay 
the  price  my  father  demanded.  Pray  do  not  look  so  dis- 
tressed ! — what  I  say  is  quite  true,  and  quite  commonplace, — 
all  the  women  of  the  upper  classes, — the  unmarried  ones, — 
are  for  sale  now  in  England  as  utterly  as  the  Circassian  girls 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  197 

in  a  barbarian  slave-market.  I  see  you  wish  to  protest,  and 
assure  me  of  your  devotion, — but  there  is  no  need  of  this, — 
I  am  quite  sure  you  love  me, — as  much  as  any  man  can  love, 
— and  I  am  content.  But  you  do  not  know  me  really, — you 
are  attracted  by  my  face  and  form, — and — you  admire  my 
youth  and  innocence,  which  you  think  I  possess.  But  I  am 
not  young — I  am  old  in  heart  and  feeling.  I  was  young  for  a 
little  while  at  Willowsmere,  when  I  lived  among  flowers  and 
birds  and  all  the  trustful  honest  creatures  of  the  woods  and 
fields, — but  one  season  in  town  was  sufficient  to  kill  my  youth 
in  me, — one  season  of  dinners  and  balls,  and — fashionable 
novel-reading.  Now  you  have  written  a  book,  and  therefore 
you  must  know  something  about  the  duties  of  authorship, — 
of  the  serious  and  even  terrible  responsibility  writers  incur 
when  they  send  out  to  the  world  books  full  of  pernicious  and 
poisonous  suggestion  to  contaminate  the  minds  that  have 
hitherto  been  clean  and  undiseased.  Your  book  has  a  noble 
motive  ;  and  for  this  I  admire  it  in  many  parts,  though  to  me 
it  is  not  as  convincing  as  it  might  have  been.  It  is  well 
written  too  ;  but  I  gained  the  impression  while  reading  it, 
that  you  were  not  altogether  sincere  yourself  in  the  thoughts 
you  strove  to  inculcate, — and  that  therefore  you  just  missed 
what  you  should  have  gained." 

"I  am  sure  you  are  right,"  I  said,  with  a  wholesome  pang 
of  humiliation.  ''^The  book  is  worthless  as  literature, — itjs 
only  the  '  boom'  of  a  season  !" 

''At  anyrate,"  she  went  on,  her  eyes  darkening  with  the 
intensity  of  her  feeling,  ''  you  have  not  polluted  your  pen 
with  the  vileness  common  to  many  of  the  authors  of  the  day. 
I  ask  you,  do  you  think  a  girl  can  read  the  books  that  are 
now  freely  published,  and  that  her  silly  society  friends  tell 
her  to  read, — 'because  it  is  so  dreadfully  queer!' — and  yet 
remain  unspoilt  and  innocent  ?  Books  that  go  into  the  de- 
tails of  the  lives  of  outcasts  ? — that  explain  and  analyze  the 
secret  vices  of  men  ? — that  advocate  almost  as  a  sacred  duty 
'  free  love'  and  universal   polygamy  ? — that  see  no  shame  in 

17^ 


198  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

introducing  into  the  circles  of  good  wives  and  pure-minded 
girls,  a  heroine  who  boldly  seeks  out  a  man,  any  man,  in 
order  that  she  may  have  a  child  by  him,  without  the  '  deg- 
radation' of  marrying  him?  I  have  read  all  those  books, — 
and  what  can  you  expect  of  me  ?  Not  innocence,  surely  !  I 
despise  men, — I  despise  my  own  sex, — I  loathe  myself  for 
being  a  woman  !  You  wonder  at  my  fanaticism  for  Mavis 
Clare, — it  is  only  because  for  a  time  her  books  give  me 
back  my  self-respect,  and  make  me  see  humanity  in  a  nobler 
light, — because  she  restores  to  me,  if  only  for  an  hour,  a 
kind  of  glimmering  belief  in  God,  so  that  my  mind  feels 
refreshed  and  cleansed.  All  the  same,  you  must  not  look 
upon  me  as  an  innocent  young  girl,  Geoffrey, — a  girl  such  as 
the  great  poets  idealized  and  sang  of, — I  am  a  contaminated 
creature,  trained  to  perfection  in  the  lax  morals  and  prurient 
literature  of  my  day." 

I  looked  at  her  in  silence,  pained,  startled,  and  with  a  sense 
of  shock,  as  though  something  indefinably  pure  and  precious 
had  crumbled  into  dust  at  my  feet.  She  rose  and  began  pacing 
the  room  restlessly,  moving  to  and  fro  with  a  slow  yet  fierce 
grace  that  reminded  me  against  my  wish  and  will  of  the  move- 
ment of  some  imprisoned  and  savage  beast  of  prey. 

*'You  shall  not  be  deceived  in  me,"  she  said,  pausing  a 
moment  and  eyeing  me  sombrely.  *'  If  you  marry  me,  you 
must  do  so  with  a  full  realization  of  the  choice  you  make. 
For  with  such  wealth  as  yours,  you  can  of  course  wed  any 
woman  you  fancy.  I  do  not  say  you  could  find  a  girl  better 
than  I  am;  I  do  not  think  you  could  in  my  *set,'  because 
we  are  all  alike, — all  tarred  with  the  same  brush,  and  filled 
with  the  same  merely  sensual  and  materialistic  views  of  life 
and  its  responsibilities  as  the  admired  heroines  of  the  *  so- 
ciety' novels  we  read.  Away  in  the  provinces,  among  the 
middle  classes  it  is  possible  you  might  discover  a  really  good 
girl  of  the  purest  blush-rose  innocence, — but  then  you  might 
also  find  her  stupid  and  unentertaining,  and  you  would 
not  care  for  that.     My  chief  recommendation  is  that  I  am 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  199 

beautiful, — you  can  see  that ;  everybody  can  see  that, — and 
I  am  not  so  affected  as  to  pretend  to  be  unconscious  of  the 
fact.  There  is  no  sham  about  my  external  appearance ;  my 
hair  is  not  a  wig, — my  complexion  is  natural, — my  figure 
is  not  the  result  of  the  corset-maker's  art, — my  eyebrows  and 
eyelashes  are  undyed.  Oh,  yes, — you  can  be  sure  that  the 
beauty  of  my  body  is  quite  genuine  ! — but  it  is  not  the  out- 
ward expression  of  an  equally  beautiful  soul.  And  this  is 
what  I  want  you  to  understand.  I  am  passionate,  resentful, 
impetuous, — frequently  unsympathetic,  and  inclined  to  mor- 
bidness and  melancholy,  and  I  confess  I  have  imbibed,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously,  that  complete  contempt  of  life  and 
disbelief  in  a  God,  which  is  the  chief  theme  of  nearly  all  the 
social  teachings  of  the  time." 

She  ceased, — and  I  gazed  at  her  with  an  odd  sense  of 
mingled  worship  and  disillusion,  even  as  a  barbarian  might 
gaze  at  an  idol  whom  he  still  loved,  but  whom  he  could  no 
longer  believe  in  as  divine.  Yet  what  she  said  was  in  no  way 
contrary  to  my  own  theories, — how  then  could  I  complain  ? 
I  did  not  believe  in  a  God; — why  should  I  inconsistently  feel 
regret  that  she  shared  my  unbelief?  I  had  involuntarily 
clung  to  the  old-fashioned  idea  that  religious  faith  was  a 
sacred  duty  in  womanhood ;  I  was  not  able  to  offer  any 
reason  for  this  notion,  unless  it  was  the  romantic  fancy  of 
having  a  good  woman  to  pray  for  one,  if  one  had  no  time  and 
less  inclination  to  pray  for  one's  self.  However,  it  was  evi- 
dent Sibyl  was  '  advanced'  enough  to  do  without  superstitious 
observances ;  she  would  never  pray  for  me ; — and  if  we  had 
children,  she  would  never  teach  them  to  make  their  first 
tender  appeals  to  Heaven  for  my  sake  or  hers.  I  smothered 
a  slight  sigh,  and  was  about  to  speak,  w^hen  she  came  up  to 
me  and  laid  her  two  hands  on  my  shoulders.  '^You  look 
unhappy,  Geoffrey,"  she  said  in  gentler  accents.  *'Be  con- 
soled ! — it  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  change  your  mind  !" 

I  met  the  questioning  glance  of  her  eyes, — beautiful,  lus- 
trous eyes  as  clear  and  pure  as  light  itself. 


200  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

''  I  shall  never  change,  Sibyl,  "  I  answered.  ''  I  love  you  ; 
I  shall  always  love  you.  But  I  wish  you  would  not  analyze 
yourself  so  pitilessly, — you  have  such  strange  ideas " 

"  You  think  them  strange  !"  she  said.  '*  You  should  not, — 
in  these  '  new  women'  days  !  I  believe  that,  thanks  to  news- 
papers, magazines  and  '  decadent'  novels,  I  am  in  all  respects 
eminently  fitted  to  be  a  wife!"  and  she  laughed  bitterly. 
''There  is  nothing  in  the  role  of  marriage  that  I  do  not 
know,  though  I  am  not  yet  twenty.  I  have  been  prepared 
for  a  long  time  to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder,  and  what 
few  silly  notions  I  had  about  love, — the  love  of  the  poets 
and  idealists,— when  I  was  a  dreamy  child  at  Willowsmere, 
are  all  dispersed  and  ended.  Ideal  love  is  dead, — and  worse 
than  dead,  being  out  of  fashion.  Carefully  instructed  as  I 
have  been  in  the  worthlessness  of  everything  but  money,  you 
can  scarcely  be  surprised  at  my  speaking  of  myself  as  an  ob- 
ject of  sale.  Marriage  for  me  /s  sl  sale,  as  far  as  my  father 
is  concerned, — for  you  know  well  enough  that  however  much 
you  loved  me,  or  I  loved  you,  he  would  never  allow  me  to 
marry  you  if  you  were  not  rich,  and  richer  than  most  men.  I 
want  you  to  feel  that  I  fully  recognise  the  nature  of  the  bargain 
struck;  and  I  ask  you  not  to  expect  a  girl's  fresh,  confiding 
love  from  a  woman  as  warped  in  heart  and  mind  as  I  am  !" 

"Sibyl,"  I  said  earnestly,  "you  wrong  yourself;  I  am 
sure  you  wrong  yourself !  You  are  one  of  those  who  can  be 
i;i  the  world  yet  not  of  it ;  your  mind  is  too  open  and  pure 
to  be  sullied,  even  by  contact  with  evil  things.  I  will  be- 
lieve nothing  you  say  against  your  own  sweet  and  noble  char- 
acter,— and,  Sibyl,  let  me  again  ask  you  not  to  distress  me  by 
this  constant  harping  on  the  subject  of  my  wealth,  or  I  shall 
be  inclined  to  look  upon  it  as  a  curse.  I  should  love  you  as 
much  if  I  w^ere  poor ' ' 

"Oh,  you  might  love  me,"  she  interrupted  me  with  a 
strange  smile,  "  but  you  would  not  dare  to  say  so  !" 

1  was  silent.  Suddenly  she  laughed,  and  linked  her  arms 
caressingly  round  my  neck. 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  201 

"There,  Geoffrey!"  she  said,  "I  have  finished  my  dis- 
course,— my  bit  of  Ibsenism  or  whatever  other  ism  affects 
me, — and  we  need  not  be  miserable  about  it.  I  have  said 
what  was  in  my  mind ;  I  have  told  you  tlie  truth,  that  in  heart 
I  am  neither  young  nor  innocent.  But  I  am  no  worse  than 
all  my  *  set,'  so  perhaps  you  had  better  make  the  best  of  me. 
I  please  your  fancy,  do  I  not?" 

"  My  love  for  you  cannot  be  so  lightly  expressed,  Sibyl !" 
I  answered,  in  rather  a  pained  tone. 

''Never  mind, — it  is  my  humour  so  to  express  it,"  she 
went  on.  "I  please  your  fancy,  and  you  wish  to  marry  me. 
Well  now,  all  I  ask  is,  go  to  my  father  and  buy  me  at  once  ! 
Conclude  the  bargain  !  And  when  you  have  bought  me, — 
don't  look  so  tragic!"  and  she  laughed  again — '' and  when 
you  have  paid  the  clergyman,  and  paid  the  bridesmaids 
(with  monogram  lockets  or  brooches),  and  paid  the  guests 
(with  wedding-cake  and  champagne),  and  cleared  up  all  scores 
with  everybody,  even  to  the  last  man  who  shuts  the  door  of 
the  nuptial  brougham, — will  you  take  me  away, — far  away 
from  this  place — this  house,  where  my  mother's  face  haunts 
me  like  a  ghost  in  the  darkness  ;  where  I  am  tortured  by 
terrors  night  and  day, — where  I  hear  such  strange  sounds, 
and  dream  of  such  ghastly  things — "  here  her  voice  suddenly 
broke,  and  she  hid  her  face  against  my  breast.  "Oh,  yes, 
Geoffrey,  take  me  away  as  quickly  as  possible !  Let  us 
never  live  in  hateful  London,  but  at  Willowsmere ;  I  may 
find  some  of  the  old  joys  there, — and  some  of  the  happy 
bygone  days." 

Touched  by  the  appealing  pathos  of  her  accents,  I  pressed 
her  to  my  heart,  feeling  that  she  was  scarcely  accountable  for 
the  strange  things  she  said  in  her  evidently  overwrought  and 
excitable  condition. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  my  darling,"  I  said.  '*  The  sooner 
I  have  you  all  to  myself  the  better.  This  is  the  end  of 
March, — will  you  be  ready  to  marry  me  in  June  !" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  still  hiding  her  face. 


202  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

*' And  now,  Sibyl,"  I  went  on,  ''remember — there  must  be 
no  more  talk  of  money  and  bargaining.  Tell  me  what  you 
have  not  yet  told  me, — that  you  love  me, — and  would  love  me 
even  if  I  were  poor." 

She  looked  up,  straightly  and  unflinchingly,  full  into  \ny 
eyes. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  she  said.  *'I  have  told  you  I 
do  not  believe  in  love ;  and  if  you  were  poor  I  certainly 
should  not  marry  you.     It  would  be  no  use  !" 

''You  are  frank,  Sibyl !" 

"It  is  best  to  be  frank,  is  it  not?"  and  she  drew  a  flower 
from  the  knot  at  her  bosom,  and  began  fastening  it  in  my 
coat.  "  Geoffrey,  what  is  the  good  of  pretence?  You  would 
hate  to  be  poor,  and  so  should  I.  I  do  not  understand  the 
verb  '  to  love,' — now  and  then  when  I  read  a  book  by  Mavis 
Clare,  I  believe  love  may  exist,  but  when  I  close  the  book 
my  belief  is  shut  up  with  it.  So  do  not  ask  for  what  is  not  in 
me.  I  am  willing — even  glad  to  marry  you ;  that  is  all  you 
must  expect." 

"  All !"  I  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  mingling  of  love  and 
wrath  in  my  blood,  as  I  closed  my  arms  about  her,  and  kissed 
her  passionately.  "All  ! — you  impassive  ice-flower,  it  is  not 
all ! — you  shall  melt  to  my  touch  and  learn  what  love  is, — 
do  not  think  you  can  escape  its  influence,  you  dear,  foolish, 
beautiful  child  !     Your  passions  are  asleep, — they  must  wake  ! ' ' 

"  For  you?"  she  queried,  resting  her  head  back  against  my 
shoulder,  and  gazing  up  at  me  with  a  dreamy  radiance  in  her 
lovely  eyes. 

"Forme!" 

She  laughed. 

"  '  Oh,  bid  me  love,  and  I  will  love  !'  "  she  hummed  softly 
under  her  breath. 

"  You  will,  you  must,  you  shall  !"  I  said  ardently.  "  I  will 
be  your  master  in  the  art  of  loving  !" 

"  It  is  a  difficult  art !"  she  said.  "I  am  afraid  it  will  take 
a  life-time  to  complete  my  training,  even  with  my  '  master.'  " 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  203 

And  a  smile  still  lingered  in  her  eyes,  giving  them  a  witch- 
like glamour,  when  I  kissed  her  again  and  bade  her  good-night. 

*'  You  will  tell  Prince  Rimanez  the  news  ?"  she  said. 

**If  you  wish  it." 

"  Of  course  I  wish  it.  Tell  him  at  once.  I  should  like 
him  to  know." 

I  went  down  the  stairs, — she  leaned  over  the  balustrade 
looking  after  me. 

"  Good-night,  Geoffrey  !"  she  called  softly. 

"Good-night,  Sibyl!" 

"  Be  sure  you  tell  Prince  Rimanez  !" 

Her  white  figure  disappeared ;  and  I  walked  out  of  the 
house  in  a  chaotic  state  of  mind,  divided  between  pride, 
ecstasy  and  pain, — the  engaged  husband  of  an  earl's  daughter, 
— the  lover  of  a  woman  who  had  declared  herself  incapable 
of  love,  and  destitute  of  faith. 


XVIII 

Looking  back  through  the  space  of  only  three  years  to  this 
particular  period  of  my  life,  I  can  remember  distinctly  the 
singular  expression  of  Lucio's  face  when  I  told  him  that  Sibyl 
Elton  had  accepted  me.  His  sudden  smile  gave  a  light  to  his 
eyes  that  I  had  never  seen  in  them  before, — a  brilliant  yet 
sinister  glow,  strangely  suggestive  of  some  inwardly  suppressed 
wrath  and  scorn.  While  I  spoke  he  was,  to  my  vexation, 
toying  with  that  uncanny  favourite  of  his,  the  'mummy-insect,' 
— and  it  annoyed  me  beyond  measure  to  see  the  repulsive  per- 
tinacity with  which  the  glittering  bat-like  creature  clung  to  his 
hand. 

''Women  are  all  alike,"  he  said  with  a  hard  laugh,  when 
he  had  heard  my  news.  "Few  of  them  have  moral  force 
enough  to  resist  that  temptation  of  a  rich  marriage." 

I  was  irritated  at  this. 


204  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

"  It  is  scarcely  fair  of  you  to  judge  everything  by  the  money- 
standard,"  I  said, — then,  after  a  little  pause,  1  added  what  in 
my  own  heart  I  knew  to  be  a  lie, — "She — Sibyl — loves  me 
for  myself  alone." 

His  glance  flashed  over  me  like  lightning. 

*'  Oh  ! — sets  the  wind  in  that  quarter.  Why,  then,  my  dear 
Geoffrey,  I  congratulate  you  more  heartily  than  ever.  To 
conquer  the  affections  of  one  of  the  proudest  girls  in  England, 
and  win  her  love  so  completely  as  to  be  sure  she  would  marry 
you  even  if  you  had  not  a  sou  to  bless  yourself  with — this  is 
a  victory  indeed  ! — and  one  of  which  you  may  well  be  proud. 
Again  and  yet  again  I  congratulate  you  !" 

Tossing  the  horrible  thing  he  called  his  '  sprite'  off  to  fly 
on  one  of  its  slow  humming  circuits  round  the  room,  he  shook 
my  hand  fervently,  still  smiling, — and  I, — feeling  instinctively 
that  he  was  as  fully  aware  of  the  truth  as  I  was,  namely,  that 
had  I  been  a  poor  author  with  nothing  but  what  I  could  earn 
by  my  brains,  the  Lady  Sibyl  Elton  would  never  have  looked 
at  me,  much  less  agreed  to  marry  me, — kept  silence  lest  I 
should  openly  betray  the  reality  of  my  position. 

''You  see,"  he  went  on,  with  a  cheerful  relentlessness, 
"I  was  not  aware  that  any  old-world  romance  graced  the 
disposition  of  one  so  apparently  impassive  as  your  beautiful 
fiancee.  To  love  for  love's  sake  only,  is  becoming  really  an 
obsolete  virtue.  I  thought  Lady  Sibyl  was  an  essentially 
modern  woman,  conscious  of  her  position,  and  the  necessity 
there  was  for  holding  that  position  proudly  before  the  world 
at  all  costs, — and  that  the  pretty  pastoral  sentiments  of  poet- 
ical Phyllises  and  Amandas  had  no  place  in  her  nature.  I 
was  wrong,  it  seems ;  and  for  once  I  have  been  mistaken  in 
the  fair  sex  !"  Here  he  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  '  sprite,' 
that  now  came  winging  its  way  back,  and  settled  at  once  on 
its  usual  resting-place.  "My  friend,  I  assure  you,  if  you 
have  won  a  true  woman's  true  love,  you  have  a  far  greater 
fortune  than  your  millions, — a  treasure  that  none  can  afford 
to  despise." 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  205 

His  voice  softened, — his  eyes  grew  dreamy  and  less  scorn- 
ful,— and  I  looked  at  him  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Why  Liicio,  I  thought  you  hated  women  !" 

''  So  I  do  !"  he  replied  quickly.  ''  But  do  not  forget  why 
I  hate  them  !  It  is  because  they  have  all  the  world's  possi- 
bilities of  good  in  their  hands,  and  the  majority  of  them 
deliberately  turn  these  possibilities  to  evil.  Men  are  in- 
fluenced entirely  by  women,  though  few  of  them  will  own 
it, — through  women  they  are  lifted  to  heaven  or  driven  to 
hell.  The  latter  is  the  favourite  course,  and  the  one  almost 
universally  adopted." 

His  brow  darkened,  and  the  lines  round  his  proud  mouth 
grew  hard  and  stern.  I  watched  him  for  a  moment, — then 
with  sudden  irrelevancy  I  said — 

"Put  that  abominable  'sprite'  of  yours  away,  will  you?  I 
hate  to  see  you  with  it !" 

"What,  my  poor  Egyptian  princess!"  he  exclaimed  with 
a  laugh.  "  Why  so  cruel  to  her,  Geoffrey?  If  you  had  lived 
in  her  day,  you  might  have  been  one  of  her  lovers  !  She  was 
no  doubt  a  charming  person, — I  find  her  charming  still  ! 
However,  to  oblige  you — "  and  here,  placing  the  insect  in 
its  crystal  receptacle,  he  carried  it  away  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room.  Then,  returning  towards  me  slowly,  he  said, 
"  Who  knows  what  the  '  sprite'  suffered  as  a  woman,  Geoffrey  ! 
Perhaps  she  made  a  rich  marriage,  and  repented  it !  At  any- 
rate  I  am  sure  she  is  much  happier  in  her  present  condition." 

"I  have  no  sympathy  with  such  a  ghastly  fancy,"  I  said 
abruptly.  "  I  only  know  that  she  or  //  is  a  perfectly  loathsome 
object  to  me." 

"Well, — some  'transmigrated'  souls  ai'e  loathsome  objects 
to  look  at,"  he  declared  imperturbably.  "When  they  are 
deprived  of  their  respectable  tw^o-legged  fleshly  covering,  it 
is  extraordinary  what  a  change  the  inexorable  law  of  Nature 
makes  in  them  !" 

"What  nonsense  you  talk,  Lucio!"  I  said  impatiently. 
"  How  can  you  know  anything  about  it !" 

18 


2o6  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

A  sudden  shadow  passed  over  his  face,  giving  it  a  strange 
pallor  and  impenetrability. 

"Have  you  forgotten,"  he  said  in  deliberately  measured 
accents,  "  that  your  friend  John  Carrington,  when  he  wrote 
that  letter  of  introduction  I  brought  from  him  to  you,  told 
you  in  it,  that  in  all  matters  scientific  I  was  an  'absolute 
master'  ?  In  these  '  matters  scientific'  you  have  not  tested 
my  skill, — yet  you  ask — '  how  can  I  know?'  I  answer  that 
I  do  know — many  things  of  which  you  are  ignorant.  Do 
not  presume  too  much  on  your  own  intellectual  capability, 
my  friend, — lest  I  prove  it  naught ! — lest  I  demonstrate  to 
you,  beyond  all  possibility  of  consoling  doubt,  that  the  shreds 
and  strippings  of  that  change  you  call  death,  are  only  so  many 
embryos  of  new  life  which  you  must  live,  whether  you  will  or 
no!" 

Somewhat  abashed  by  his  words  and  still  more  by  his  man- 
ner, I  said — 

''  Pardon  me  ! — I  spoke  in  haste  of  course, — but  you  know 
my  theories — " 

'*Most  thoroughly!"  and  he  laughed,  with  an  immediate 
resumption  of  his  old  manner.  "  '  Everyman  his  own  theory' 
is  the  fashionable  motto  of  the  hour.  Each  little  biped  tells 
you  that  he  has  his  'own  idea'  of  God,  and  equally  'his 
own'  idea  of  the  Devil.  It  is  very  droll !  But  let  us  return 
to  the  theme  of  love.  I  feel  I  have  not  congratulated  you 
half  enough, — for  surely  Fortune  favours  you  singularly. 
Out  of  the  teeming  mass  of  vain  and  frivolous  femininity,  you 
have  secured  a  unique  example  of  beauty,  truth  and  purity, — 
a  woman,  who  apart  from  all  self-interest  and  worldly  advan- 
tage, weds  you,  with  five  millions,  for  yourself  alone  !  The 
prettiest  poem  in  the  world  could  be  made  out  of  such  an 
exquisitely  innocent  maiden  type !  You  are  one  of  the 
luckiest  men  alive ;  in  fact,  you  have  nothing  more  to  wish 
for." 

I  did  not  contradict  him,  though  in  my  own  mind  I  felt 
that  the  circumstances  of  my  engagement   left  much  to  be 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  207 

desired.  I,  who  scoffed  at  religion,  wished  it  had  formed 
part  of  the  character  of  my  future  wife.  I,  who  sneered  at 
sentiment,  craved  for  some  expression  of  it  in  the  woman 
whose  beauty  attracted  my  desires.  However,  I  determinedly 
smothered  all  the  premonitions  of  my  own  conscience,  and 
accepted  what  each  day  of  my  idle  and  useless  life  brought 
me  without  considering  future  consequences. 

The  papers  soon  had  the  news  that  ' '  a  marriage  has  been 
arranged  and  will  shortly  take  place  between  Sibyl,  only 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Elton,  and  Geoffrey  Tempest,  the 
famous  millionaire."  Not  'famous  author,'  mark  you! — 
though  I  was  still  being  loudly  'boomed.'  Morgeson,  my 
publisher,  could  offer  me  no  consolation  as  to  my  chances  of 
winning  and  keeping  a  steady  future  fame.  The  Tenth  Edition 
of  my  book  was  announced,  but  we  had  not  actually  disposed 
of  more  than  two  thousand  copies,  including  a  One-Volume 
issue  which  had  been  hastily  thrust  on  the  market.  And  the 
work  I  had  so  mercilessly  and  maliciously  slated, — "Differ- 
ences" by  Mavis  Clare, — was  in  its  thirtieth  thousand  !  I 
commented  on  this  with  some  anger  to  Morgeson,  who  was 
virtuously  aggrieved  at  my  complaint. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr  Tempest,  you  are  not  the  only  writer  who 
has  been  '  boomed'  by  the  press  and  who,  nevertheless,  does 
not  sell, ' '  he  exclaimed.  ' '  No  one  can  account  for  the  caprices 
of  the  public  ;  they  are  entirely  beyond  the  most  cautious  pub- 
lisher's control  or  calculation.  Miss  Clare  is  a  sore  subject  to 
many  authors  besides  yourself, — she  always  '  takes'  and  no  one 
can  help  it.  I  sympathize  with  you  in  the  matter  heartily,  but 
I  am  not  to  blame.  At  anyrate  the  reviewers  are  all  with 
you, — their  praise  has  been  almost  unanimous.  Now  Mavis 
Clare's  '  Differences,'  though  to  my  thinking  a  very  brilliant 
and  powerful  book,  has  been  literally  cut  to  pieces  whenever 
it  has  been  noticed  at  all, — and  yet  the  public  go  for  her  and 
don't  go  for  you.  It  isn't  my  fault.  You  see  people  have 
got  Compulsory  Education  now,  and  I'm  afraid  they  begin  to 
mistrust  criticism,  preferring  to  form  their  own  independent 


2o8  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

opinions ;  if  this  is  so,  of  course  it  will  be  a  terrible  thing, 
because  the  most  carefully  organized  clique  in  the  world  will 
be  powerless.  Everything  has  been  done  for  you  that  can  be 
done,  Mr  Tempest, — I  am  sure  I  regret  as  much  as  yourself 
that  the  result  has  not  been  all  you  expected  or  desired.  Many 
authors  would  not  care  so  much  for  the  public  approval ;  the 
applause  of  cultured  journalism  such  as  you  have  obtained, 
would  be  more  than  sufficient  for  them." 

I  laughed  bitterly.  *  The  applause  of  cultured  journalism  !' 
I  thought  I  knew  something  of  the  way  in  which  such  applause 
was  won.  Almost  I  began  to  hate  m.y  millions, — golden  trash 
that  could  only  secure  me  the  insincere  flattery  of  fair-weather 
friends, — and  that  could  not  give  me  fame, — such  fame  as  has 
sometimes  been  grasped  in  a  moment  by  a  starving  and  neg- 
lected genius,  who  in  the  very  arms  of  death,  succeeds  in 
mastering  the  world.  One  day  in  a  fit  of  disappointment  and 
petulance  I  said  to  Lucio — 

*'You  have  not  kept  all  your  promises,  my  friend  I — you 
told  me  you  could  give  me  fame  !" 

He  looked  at  me  curiously. 

"  Did  I?     Well, — and  are  you  not  famous  ?'* 

"  No.     I  am  merely  notorious,"  I  retorted. 

He  smiled. 

**  The  word  fame,  my  good  Geoffrey,  traced  to  its  origin, 
means  a  '  breath' — the  breath  of  popular  adulation.  You  have 
that — for  your  wealth. " 

* '  But  not  for  my  work  ! ' ' 

"  You  have  the  praise  of  the  reviewers  !" 

''  What  is  that  worth  !" 

''Everything!"  he  answered  smiling — '*  in  the  reviewers' 
own  opinion  !" 

I  was  silent. 

''You  speak  of  work,"  he  went  on.  "  Now  the  nature  of 
work  I  cannot  exactly  express,  because  it  is  a  divine  thing  and 
is  judged  by  a  divine  standard.  One  must  consider  in  all  work 
two  things ;  first,  the  object  for  which  it  is  undertaken,  and 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  209 

secondly  the  way  in  which  it  is  performed.  All  work  should 
have  a  high  and  unselfish  intent, — without  this,  it  perishes  and 
is  not  considered  work  at  all, — not  at  least  by  the  eternal  judges 
invisible.  If  it  is  work,  truly  and  nobly  done  in  every  sense 
of  the  word,  it  carries  with  it  its  own  reward,  and  the  laurels 
descend  from  heaven,  shaped  ready  for  wearing, — no  earthly 
power  can  bestow  them.  I  cannot  give  you  that  fame, — but  I 
have  secured  you  a  very  fair  imitation  of  it." 

I  was  obliged  to  acquiesce,  though  more  or  less  morosely, 
— whereat  I  saw  that  he  was  somewhat  amused.  Unwilling 
to  incur  his  contempt,  I  said  no  more  concerning  the  subject 
that  was  the  sorest  to  my  heart,  and  wore  out  many  sleepless 
hours  at  night  in  trying  to  write  a  new  book, — something  novel 
and  daring,  such  as  should  force  the  public  to  credit  me  with 
a  little  loftier  status  than  that  obtained  by  the  possession  of  a 
huge  banking  account.  But  the  creative  faculty  seemed  dead 
in  me, — I  was  crushed  by  a  sense  of  impotence  and  failure ; 
vague  ideas  were  in  my  brain  that  would  not  lend  themselves 
to  expression  in  words, — and  such  a  diseased  love  of  hyper- 
criticism  controlled  me,  that  after  a  miserably  nervous  analysis 
of  every  page  I  wrote,  I  tore  it  up  as  soon  as  it  was  written, 
thus  reducing  myself  to  a  state  of  mind  that  was  almost 
unbearable. 

Early  in  April  I  made  my  first  visit  to  Willowsmere,  having 
received  information  from  the  head  of  the  firm  of  decorators 
and  furnishers  employed  there,  that  their  work  was  close  on 
completion,  and  that  they  would  be  glad  of  a  visit  of  inspec- 
tion from  me.  Lucio  and  I  went  down  together  for  the  day, 
and  as  the  train  rushed  through  a  green  and  smiling  landscape, 
bearing  us  away  from  the  smoke,  dirt  and  noise  of  the  restless 
modern  Babylon,  I  was  conscious  of  a  gradually  deepening 
peace  and  pleasure.  The  first  sight  of  the  place  I  had  reck- 
lessly purchased  without  so  much  as  looking  at  it,  filled  me 
with  delight  and  admiration.  It  was  a  beautiful  old  house, 
ideally  English,  and  suggestive  of  home-happiness.  Ivy  and 
jessamine  clung  to  its  red  walls  and  picturesque  gables, — 
o  18* 


2IO  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

through  the  long  vista  of  the  exquisitely  wooded  grounds,  the 
silver  gleam  of  the  Avon  river  could  be  discerned,  twisting  in 
and  out  like  a  ribbon  tied  in  true  love-knots, — the  trees  and 
shrubs  were  sprouting  forth  in  all  their  fresh  spring  beauty, — 
the  aspect  of  the  country  was  indescribably  bright  and  sooth- 
ing, and  I  began  to  feel  as  if  a  burden  had  been  suddenly  lifted 
from  my  life,  leaving  me  free  to  breathe  and  enjoy  my  liberty. 
I  strolled  from  room  to  room  of  my  future  abode,  admiring 
the  taste  and  skill  with  which  the  whole  place  had  been  fitted 
and  furnished,  down  to  the  smallest  detail  of  elegance,  comfort 
and  convenience.  Here  my  Sibyl  was  born,  I  thought,  with  a 
lover-like  tenderness, — here  she  would  dwell  again  as  my  wife, 
amid  the  lovely  and  beloved  surroundings  of  her  childhood, — 
and  we  should  be  happy — yes,  we  should  be  happy,  despite 
all  the  dull  and  heartless  social  doctrines  of  the  modern  world. 
In  the  spacious  and  beautiful  drawing-room  I  stopped  to  look 
out  from  the  windows  on  the  entrancing  view  of  lawn  and 
woodland  that  stretched  before  me, — and  as  I  looked,  a  warm 
sense  of  gratitude  and  affection  filled  me  for  the  friend  to 
whose  good  offices  I  owed  this  fair  domain.  Turning,  I 
grasped  him  by  the  hand. 

''It  is  all  your  doing,  Lucio  !"  I  said.  "  I  feel  I  can  never 
thank  you  enough !  Without  you  I  should  perhaps  never 
have  met  Sibyl, — I  might  never  have  heard  of  her,  or  of 
Willowsmere  ;  and  I  never  could  have  been  as  happy  as  I  am 
to-day!" 

"  Oh,  you  are  happy  then?"  he  queried  with  a  little  smile. 
''  I  fancied  you  were  not !" 

*'  Well — I  have  not  been  as  happy  as  I  expected  to  be,"  I 
confessed.  ''Something  in  my  sudden  accession  to  wealth 
seems  to  have  dragged  me  down  rather  than  lifted  me  up, — 
it  is  strange " 

"It  is  not  strange  at  all,"  he  interrupted;  "on  the  con- 
trary it  is  very  natural.  As  a  rule  the  most  miserable  people 
in  the  world  are  the  rich." 

"Are  you  miserable,  for  instance?"  I  asked,  smiling. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  211 

His  eyes  rested  on  me  with  a  dark  and  dreary  pathos. 

'S\re  you  too  blind  to  see  that  I  am?"  he  answered,  his 
accents  vibrating  with  intense  melancholy.  *'  Can  you  think 
I  am  happy  ?  Does  the  smile  I  wear — the  disguising  smile 
men  put  on  as  a  mask  to  hide  their  secret  agonies  from  the 
pitiless  gaze  of  unsympathetic  fellow-creatures — persuade  you 
that  I  am  free  from  care  ?  As  for  my  wealth,  I  have  never 
told  you  the  extent  of  it ;  if  I  did,  it  might  indeed  amaze 
you,  though  I  believe  it  would  not  now  arouse  your  envy, 
considering  that  your  trifling  five  millions  have  not  been 
without  effect  in  depressing  your  mind.  But  I, — I  could 
buy  up  kingdoms,  and  be  none  the  poorer, — I  could  throne 
and  unthrone  kings,  and  be  none  the  wiser, — I  could  crush 
whole  countries  under  the  iron  heel  of  financial  specula- 
tion,— I  could  possess  the  world, — and  yet  estimate  it  at 
no  higher  value  than  I  do  now, — the  value  of  a  grain  of 
dust  circling  through  infinity,  or  a  soap-bubble  blown  on  the 
wind  ! ' ' 

His  brows  knitted, — his  face  expressed  pride,  scorn  and 
sorrow. 

''There  is  some  mystery  about  you,  Lucio,"  I  said, — 
"some  grief  or  loss  that  your  wealth  cannot  repair — and  that 
makes  you  the  strange  being  you  are.  One  day  perhaps  you 
will  confide  in  me  ..." 

He  laughed  loudly, — almost  fiercely ; — and  clapped  me 
heavily  on  the  shoulder — 

*'  I  will !"  he  said.  ''  I  will  tell  you  my  history  !  And  you, 
excellent  agnostic  as  you  are,  shall  '  minister  to  a  mind  dis- 
eased,' and  'pluck  out  the  memory  of  a  rooted  sorrow!' 
What  a  power  of  expression  there  was  in  Shakespeare,  the 
uncrowned  but  actual  King  of  England  !  Not  the  '  rooted 
sorrow'  alone  was  to  be  '  plucked  out,'  but  the  very  '  memory' 
of  it.  The  apparently  simple  line  holds  complex  wisdom; 
no  doubt  the  poet  knew,  or  instinctively  guessed  the  most 
terrible  fact  in  all  the  Universe  ..." 

"And  what  is  that?" 


212  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

*'The  eternal  consciousness  of  Memory,"  he  replied. 
^'  God  can  not  forget, — and,  in  consequence  of  this,  His 
creatures  may  not ! ' ' 

I  forbore  to  reply,  but  I  suppose  my  face  betrayed  my 
thoughts,  for  the  cynical  smile  I  knew  so  well  played  round 
his  mouth  as  he  looked  at  me. 

"  I  go  beyond  your  patience,  do  I  not !"  he  said,  laughing 
again.  ''When  I  mention  God, — who  is  declared  by  certain 
scientists  to  be  non-existent  except  as  a  blind,  indifferent 
natural  Force  or  Atom-producer, — you  are  bored  !  I  can 
see  that  at  a  glance.  Pray  forgive  me  !  Let  us  resume  our 
tour  of  inspection  through  this  charming  abode.  You  will 
be  very  difficult  to  satisfy  if  you  are  not  a  very  emperor  of 
contentment  here ; — with  a  beautiful  wife  and  plenty  of  cash, 
you  can  well  afford  to  give  '  fame'  the  go-by." 

*'I  may  win  it  yet!"  I  said  hopefully.  "In  this  place,  I 
feel  I  could  write  something  worthy  of  being  written." 

"  Good  !  The  'divine  flutterings'  of  winged  thoughts  are 
in  your  brain  !  Apollo  grant  them  strength  to  fly  !  And 
now  let  us  have  luncheon, — afterwards  we  shall  have  time 
to  take  a  stroll." 

In  the  dining-room  I  found  an  elegant  repast  prepared 
which  rather  surprised  me,  as  I  had  given  no  orders,  having 
indeed  forgotten  to  do  so.  Lucio,  however,  had,  it  appeared, 
not  forgotten,  and  an  advance  telegram  from  him  had  placed 
certain  caterers  at  Leamington  on  their  mettle,  with  the  result 
that  we  sat  down  to  a  feast  as  delicate  and  luxurious  as  any 
two  epicures  could  desire. 

"  Now  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favour,  Cxcoffrey,"  said  Lucio, 
during  our  luncheon.  "  You  will  scarcely  need  to  reside  here 
till  after  your  marriage ;  you  have  too  many  engagements  in 
town.  You  spoke  of  entertaining  a  big  house-party  down 
here, — I  wouldn't  do  that  if  I  were  you, — it  isn't  worth  while. 
You  would  have  to  get  in  a  staff  of  servants,  and  leave  them 
all  afterwards  to  their  own  devices  while  you  are  on  your 
honeymoon.     This  is  what  I  propose, — give  a  grand  fete  here 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


213 


in  honour  of  your  betrothal  to  Lady  Sibyl,  in  May,  and  let 
me  be  the  master  of  the  revels  !" 

I  was  in  the  mood  to  agree  to  anything, — moreover  the 
idea  seemed  an  excellent  one.  I  said  so  and  Rimanez  went 
on  quickly — 

"You  understand,  of  course,  that  if  I  undertake  to  do  a 
thing  I  always  do  it  thoroughly,  and  brook  no  interference 
with  my  plans.  Now  as  your  marriage  will  be  the  signal  for 
our  parting, — at  any  rate  for  a  time,— I  should  like  to  show 
my  appreciation  of  your  friendship,  by  organizing  a  brilliant 
affair  of  the  kind  I  suggest, — and  if  you  will  leave  it  all  to  me 
I  guarantee  you  shall  hold  such  a  fete  as  has  never  been  seen 
or  known  in  England.  And  it  will  be  a  personal  satisfaction 
to  me  if  you  consent  to  my  proposal." 

''My  dear  fellow,  "  I  answered,  *'of  course  I  consent — 
willingly  !  I  give  you  ca7'te  blanche, — do  as  you  like  ;  do  all 
you  like  !  It  is  most  friendly  and  kind  of  you !  But  when 
are  we  to  make  this  sensation  ?' ' 

*' You  are  to  be  married  in  June?"  he  asked. 

''Yes, — in  the  second  week  of  the  month." 

"Very  well.  The  fete  shall  be  held  on  the  twenty-second 
of  May, — that  will  give  society  time  to  recover  from  the  effect 
of  one  burst  of  splendour  in  order  to  be  ready  for  another, — 
namely,  the  wedding.  Now  we  need  not  talk  of  this  any  more 
— it  is  settled, — the  rest  devolves  on  me.  We've  got  three  or 
four  hours  to  spare  before  we  take  the  train  back  to  town, — 
suppose  we  take  a  saunter  through  the  grounds?" 

I  assented  to  this,  and  accompanied  him  readily,  feeling  in 
high  spirits  and  good  humour.  Willowsmere  and  its  peaceful 
loveliness  seemed  to  cleanse  my  mind  of  all  corroding  in- 
fluences ; — the  blessed  silence  of  the  woods  and  hills,  after 
the  rush  and  roar  of  town  life,  soothed  and  cheered  me,  and  I 
walked  beside  my  companion  with  a  light  heart  and  smiling 
face, — happy,  and  filled  with  a  dim  religious  faith  in  the  blue 
sky,  if  not  in  the  God  beyond  it.  We  sauntered  through  the 
fair  gardens  which  were  now  mine,  and  then  out  through  the 


214  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

park  into  a  lovely  little  lane, — a  true  Warwickshire  lane, 
where  the  celandines  were  strewing  the  grass  with  their  bright 
gold  coinage,  and  the  star-wort  thrust  up  fairy  bouquets  of 
white  bloom  between  buttercups  and  clover,  and  where  the 
hawthorn  buds  were  beginning  to  show  themselves  like  minute 
snow-pellets  among  the  glossy  young  green.  A  thrush  warbled 
melodiously, — a  lark  rose  from  almost  our  very  feet  and  flung 
itself  joyously  into  the  sky  with  a  wild  outburst  of  song, — a 
robin  hopped  through  a  little  hole  in  the  hedge  to  look  at  us 
in  blithe  inquisitiveness  as  we  passed.  All  at  once  Lucio 
stopped  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder, — his  eyes  had  the 
beautiful  melancholy  of  a  far-off  longing  which  I  could  neither 
understand  nor  define. 

*'  Listen,  Geoffrey  !"  he  said.  ''  Listen  to  the  silence  of  the 
earth  while  the  lark  sings !  Have  you  ever  observed  the 
receptive  attitude  in  which  Nature  seems  to  wait  for  sounds 
divine !" 

I  did  not  answer, — the  silence  around  us  was  indeed  im- 
pressive;— the  warbling  of  the  thrush  had  ceased,  and  only 
the  lark's  clear  voice  pealing  over-head  echoed  sweetly 
through  the  stillness  of  the  lane. 

*'  In  the  clerical  Heaven,"  went  on  Lucio  dreamily,  **  there 
are  no  birds.  There  are  only  conceited  human  souls  bray- 
ing forth  'Alleluia'!  No  flowers  are  included, — no  trees; 
only  '  golden  streets. '  What  a  poor  and  barbarous  concep- 
tion !  As  if  a  World  inhabited  by  Deity  would  not  contain 
the  wonders,  graces  and  beauties  of  all  worlds  !  Even  this 
little  planet  is  more  naturally  beautiful  than  the  clerical 
Heaven, — that  is,  it  is  beautiful  wherever  Man  is  not.  I 
protest — I  have  always  protested — against  the  creation  of 
Man!" 

I  laughed. 

''  You  protest  against  your  own  existence  then  !"  I  said. 

His  eyes  darkened  slowly  to  a  sombre  brooding  blackness. 

*'  When  the  sea  roars  and  flings  itself  in  anger  on  the  shore, 
it  craves  its  prey — Mankind  !     It  seeks  to  wash  the  fair  earth 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  215 

clean  of  the  puny  insect  that  troubles  the  planet's  peace  !  It 
drowns  the  noxious  creature  when  it  can,  with  the  aid  of  its 
sympathizing  comrade  the  wind  !  When  the  thunder  crashes 
down  a  second  after  the  lightning,  does  it  not  seem  to  you 
that  the  very  clouds  combine  in  the  holy  war? — the  war 
against  God's  one  mistake  ; — the  making  of  humanity, — the 
effort  to  sweep  it  out  of  the  universe  as  one  erases  a  weak 
expression  in  an  otherwise  perfect  Poem  !  You  and  I,  for 
example,  are  the  only  discords  in  to-day's  woodland  harmony. 
We  are  not  particularly  grateful  for  life, — we  certainly  are  not 
content  wilh  it, — we  have  not  the  innocence  of  a  bird  or  a 
flower.  We  have  more  knowledge,  you  will  say, — but  how  can 
we  be  sure  of  that?  Our  wisdom  came  from  the  devil  in  the 
first  place,  according  to  the  legend  of  the  tree  of  knowledge, 
— the  fruit  of  which  taught  both  good  and  evil,  but  which  still 
apparently  persuades  man  to  evil  rather  than  good,  and  leads 
him  on  to  a  considerable  amount  of  arrogance  besides,  for  he 
has  an  idea  he  will  be  immortal  as  a  god  in  the  hereafter, — 
ye  majestic  Heavens  ! — what  an  inadequately  stupendous  fate 
for  a  grain  of  worthless  dust, — a  dwarfish  atom  such  as  he  !" 

*' Well,  /have  no  ideas  of  immortality,"  I  said.  "I  have 
told  you  that  often.  This  life  is  enough  for  me, — I  want  and 
expect  no  other." 

"Aye,  but  if  there  were  another!"  answered  Lucio,  fixing 
me  with  a  steady  look.  ''And — if  you  were  not  asked  your 
opinion  about  it — but  simply  plunged  headlong  into  a  state 
of  terrible  consciousness  of  which  you  would  rather  not 
be " 

''Oh  come,"  I  said  impatiently,  *' do  not  let  us  theorize! 
I  am  happy  to-day  ! — my  heart  is  as  light  as  that  of  the  bird 
singing  m  the  sky ;  I  am  in  the  very  best  of  humours,  and 
could  not  say  an  unkind  word  to  my  worst  enemy." 

He  smiled. 

*'Is  that  your  humour?"  and  he  took  me  by  the  arm. 
"  Then  there  could  be  no  better  opportunity  for  showing  you 
this  pretty  little  corner  of  the  world, ' ' — and  walking  on  a  few 


2i6  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

yards,  he  dexterously  turned  me  down  a  narrow  path,  leading 
from  the  lane,  and  brought  me  face  to  face  with  a  lovely  old 
cottage,  almost  buried  in  the  green  of  the  young  spring  ver- 
dure, and  surrounded  by  an  open  fence  overgrown  with  haw- 
thorn and  sweet-brier.  "Keep  firm  hold  over  your  temper 
Geoffrey, — and  maintain  the  benignant  tranquillity  of  your 
mind  ! — here  dwells  the  woman  whose  name  and  fame  you 
hate,— Mavis  Clare!" 


XIX 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  face,  and  I  stopped  abruptly. 

*'  Let  us  go  back,"  I  said. 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  do  not  know  Miss  Clare  and  do  not  want  to 
know  her.  Literary  women  are  my  abhorrence, — they  are 
always  more  or  less  unsexed." 

"You  are  thinking  of  the  'New'  women  I  suppose, — but 
you  flatter  them, — they  never  had  any  sex  to  lose.  The  self- 
degrading  creatures  who  delineate  their  fictional  heroines  as 
wallowing  in  unchastity,  and  who  write  freely  on  subjects 
which  men  would  hesitate  to  name,  are  unnatural  hybrids  of 
no-sex.  Mavis  Clare  is  not  one  of  them, — she  is  an  ^  old- 
fa.shioned'  young  woman.  Mademoiselle  Derino,  the  dancer, 
is  '  unsexed,'  but  you  did  not  object  to  her  on  that  score ;  on 
the  contrary  I  believe  you  have  shown  your  appreciation  of  her 
talents  by  spending  a  considerable  amount  of  cash  upon  her." 

"  That's  not  a  fair  comparison,"  I  answered  hotly.  "  Mad- 
emoiselle Derino  amused  me  for  a  time." 

"  And  was  not  your  rival  in  art !"  said  Lucio  with  a  little 
malicious  smile.  "  I  see  !  Still,  as  far  as  the  question  of  being 
*  unsexed'  goes,  I  personally  consider  that  a  woman  who  shows 
the  power  of  her  intellect  is  more  to  be  respected  than  the 
woman  who  shows  the  power  of  her  legs.     But  men  always 


THE   SORROWS  OF  SATAN  217 

prefer  the  legs, — just  as  they  prefer  the  devil  to  the  Deity.  All 
the  same,  I  think,  as  we  have  time  to  spare,  we  may  as  well  see 
this  genius." 

''  Genius  !"  I  echoed  contemptuously. 

**  Feminine  twaddler,  then  !"  he  suggested,  laughing.  "  Let 
us  see  this  feminine  twaddler.  She  will  no  doubt  prove  as 
amusing  as  Mademoiselle  Derino  in  her  way.  I  shall  ring  the 
bell  and  ask  if  she  is  at  home." 

He  advanced  towards  the  creeper-covered  porch, — but  I 
stood  back,  mortified  and  sullen,  determined  not  to  accompany 
him  inside  the  house  if  he  were  admitted.  Suddenly  a  blithe 
peal  of  musical  laughter  sounded  through  the  air,  and  a  clear 
voice  exclaimed — 

''Oh,  Tricksy^  You  wicked  boy!  Take  it  back  directly, 
and  apologize  I" 

Lucio  peered  through  the  fence,  and  then  beckoned  to  me 
energetically. 

"  There  she  is  !"  he  whispered.  "  There  is  the  dyspeptic, 
sour,  savage  old  blue-stocking, — there,  on  the  lawn, — by 
Heaven  ! — she's  enough  to  strike  terror  into  the  heart  of  any 
man — and  millionaire  ! ' ' 

I  looked  where  he  pointed,  and  saw  nothing  but  a  fair- 
haired  girl  in  a  white  gown,  sitting  in  a  low  basket-chair,  with 
a  tiny  toy  terrier  on  her  lap.  The  terrier  was  jealously  guard- 
ing a  large  square  dog-biscuit  nearly  as  big  as  himself,  and  at 
a  little  distance  off  sat  a  magnificent  rough-coated  St  Bernard, 
wagging  his  feathery  tail  to  and  fro,  with  every  sign  of  good- 
humour  and  enjoyment.  The  position  was  evident  at  a  glance, 
— the  small  dog  had  taken  his  huge  companion's  biscuit  from 
him  and  had  conveyed  it  to  his  mistress, — a  canine  joke  which 
seemed  to  be  appreciated  and  understood  by  all  the  parties 
concerned.  But  as  I  watched  the  little  group,  I  did  not  be- 
lieve that  the  woman  I  saw  was  Mavis  Clare.  That  small  head 
was  surely  never  made  for  the  wearing  of  deathless  laurels,  but 
rather  for  a  garland  of  roses  (sweet  and  perishable)  twined  by 
a  lover's  hand.  No  such  slight  feminine  creature  as  the  one 
K  19 


2i8  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

I  now  looked  upon  could  ever  be  capable  of  the  intellectual 
grasp  and  power  of  '  Differences,'  the  book  I  secretly  admired 
and  wondered  at,  but  which  I  had  anonymously  striven  to 
'  quash'  in  its  successful  career.  The  writer  of  such  a  work,  I 
imagined,  must  needs  be  of  a  more  or  less  strong  physique, 
with  pronounced  features  and  an  impressive  personality.  This 
butterfly  thing,  playing  with  her  dog,  was  no  type  of  a  '  blue- 
stocking,' and  I  said  as  much  to  Lucio. 

"That  cannot  be  Miss  Clare,"  I  said.  "More  likely  a 
visitor, — or  perhaps  the  companion-secretary.  The  novelist 
must  be  very  different  in  appearance  to  that  frivolous  young 
person  in  white,  whose  dress  is  distinctly  Parisian,  and  who 
seems  to  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  but  amuse  herself." 

"Tricksy!"  said  the  clear  voice  again,  "take  back  the 
biscuit  and  apologize  !" 

The  tiny  terrier  looked  round  with  an  innocently  abstracted 
air,  as  if  in  the  earnestness  of  his  own  thoughts  he  had  not 
quite  caught  the  meaning  of  the  sentence. 

"  Tricksy  !"  and  the  voice  became  more  imperative,  "  take 
it  back  and  apologize  ! ' ' 

With  a  comical  expression  of  resignation  to  circumstances, 
*  Tricksy'  seized  the  large  biscuit,  and  holding  it  in  his  teeth 
with  gingerly  care,  jumped  from  his  mistress's  knee,  and  trot- 
ting briskly  up  to  the  St  Bernard  who  was  still  wagging  his  tail 
and  smiling  as  visibly  as  dogs  often  can  smile,  restored  his 
stolen  goods  with  three  short  yapping  barks,  as  much  as  to  say 
"There!  take  it!"  The  St  Bernard  rose  in  all  his  majestic 
bulk  and  sniffed  at  it, — then  sniffed  his  small  friend,  apparently 
in  dignified  doubt  as  to  which  was  terrier  and  which  was  bis- 
cuit,— then  lying  down  again  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  pleasure 
of  munching  his  meal,  the  while  '  Tricksy'  with  wild  barks 
of  delight  performed  a  sort  of  mad  war-dance  round  and  round 
him  by  way  of  entertainment.  This  piece  of  dog-comedy 
was  still  going  on,  when  Lucio  turned  away  from  his  point  of 
observation  at  the  fence,  and  going  up  to  the  gate,  rang  the 
bell.     A  neat  maid-servant  answered  the  summons. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  219 

*'  Is  Miss  Clare  at  home  ?"  he  asked. 

'*  Yes,  sir.  But  I  am  not  sure  whether  she  will  receive 
you,"  the  maid  replied,  ''unless  you  have  an  appoint- 
ment !" 

*'We  have  no  appointment,"  said  Lucio, — ''but  if  you 
will  take  these  cards, — "  here  he  turned  to  me, — "  Geoffrey, 
give  me  one  of  yours  !"  I  complied,  somewhat  reluctantly. 
"  If  you  will  take  these  cards,"  he  resumed,  "  to  Miss  Clare, 
it  is  just  possible  she  may  be  kind  enough  to  see  us.  If  not, 
it  will  be  our  loss." 

He  spoke  so  gently,  and  with  such  an  ingratiating  manner, 
that  I  could  see  the  servant  was  at  once  prepossessed  in  his 
favour. 

"  Step  in,  sir,  if  you  please,"  she  said  smiling,  and  open- 
ing the  gate.  He  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  I,  who  a  moment 
ago  had  resolved  not  to  enter  the  place,  found  myself  passively 
following  him  under  an  archway  of  sprouting  young  leaves  and 
early  budding  jessamine  into  *  Lily  Cottage' — which  was  to 
prove  one  day,  though  I  knew  it  not  then,  the  only  haven  of 
peace  and  security  I  should  ever  crave  for, — and,  craving,  be 
unable  to  win  ! 

The  house  was  much  larger  than  it  looked  from  the  outside  ; 
the  entrance-hall  was  square  and  lofty  and  panelled  with  fine 
old  carved  oak,  and  the  drawing-room  into  which  we  were 
shown  was  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  beautiful  apart- 
ments I  had  ever  seen.  There  were  flowers  everywhere, — 
books, — rare  bits  of  china, — elegant  trifles  that  only  a  woman 
of  perfect  taste  would  have  the  sense  to  select  and  appreciate, 
— on  one  or  two  of  the  side-tables  and  on  the  grand  piano  were 
autograph-portraits  of  many  of  the  greatest  celebrities  in 
Europe.  Lucio  strolled  about  the  room,  making  soft  com- 
ments. 

*'Here  is  the  Autocrat  of  all  the  Russias,"  he  said,  pausing 
before  a  fine  portrait  of  the  Tsar.  "Signed  by  the  Imperial 
hand  too.  Now  what  has  the  '  feminine  twaddler'  done  to 
deserve  that  honour  I  wonder !     Here,  in  strange  contrast, 


2  20  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

is  the  wild-haired  Paderewski, — and  beside  him  the  perennial 
Patti, — there  is  Her  Majesty  of  Italy,  and  here  we  have 
H.R.H.  the  Prince  of  Wales, — all  autographed  likenesses. 
Upon  my  word.  Miss  Clare  seems  to  attract  a  great  many 
notabilities  around  her  without  the  aid  of  hard  cash.  I 
wonder  how  she  does  it,  Geoffrey  ?' '  and  his  eyes  sparkled 
half  maliciously.  *'  Can  it  be  a  case  of  genius  after  all  ?  Look 
at  those  lilies  !"  and  he  pointed  to  a  mass  of  white  bloom  in 
one  of  the  windows.  "Are  they  not  far  more  beautiful  crea- 
tures than  men  and  women  ?  Dumb — yet  eloquent  of  purity  ! 
— no  wonder  the  painters  choose  them  as  the  only  flowers 
suitable  for  the  adornment  of  angels." 

As  he  spoke  the  door  opened,  and  the  girl  we  had  seen  on 
the  lawn  entered,  carrying  her  toy  terrier  on  one  arm.  •  Was 
she  Mavis  Clare  ?  or  some  one  sent  to  say  that  the  novelist 
could  not  receive  us  ?  I  wondered  silently,  looking  at  her  in 
surprise  and  something  of  confusion, — Lucio  advanced  with 
an  odd  mingling  of  humility  and  appeal  in  his  manner  which 
was  new  to  me. 

''We  must  apologize  for  our  intrusion,  Miss  Clare,"  he 
said.     *'  But  happening  to  pass  your  house,  we  could  not  resist 

making  an  attempt  to  see  you.     My  name  is Rimanez," — 

he  hesitated  oddly  for  a  second,  then  went  on — ''and  this  is 
my  friend  Mr  Geoffrey  Tempest,  the  author — — "  The  girl 
raised  her  eyes  to  mine  with  a  little  smile  and  courteous  bend 
of  her  head.  "  He  has,  as  I  daresay  you  know,  become  the 
owner  of  Willowsmere  Court.  You  will  be  neighbours  and 
I  hope  friends.  In  any  case,  if  we  have  committed  a  breach 
of  etiquette  in  venturing  to  call  upon  you  without  previous 
introduction,  you  must  try  and  forgive  us  !  It  is  difficult — 
to  me  impossible — to  pass  the  dwelling  of  a  celebrity  without 
offering  homage  to  the  presiding  genius  within." 

Mavis  Clare — for  it  was  Mavis  Clare — seemed  not  to  have 
heard  the  intended  compliment. 

"You  are  very  welcome,"  she  said  simply,  advancing  with 
a  pretty  grace,  and  extending  her  hand  to  each  of  us  in  turn. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  221 

**  I  am  quite  accustomed  to  visits  from  strangers.  But  I 
already  know  Mr  Tempest  very  well  by  reputation.  Won't 
you  sit  down  ?' ' 

She  motioned  us  to  chairs  in  the  lily-decked  window-corner, 
and  rang  the  bell.     Her  maid  appeared. 

''Tea,  Janet." 

This  order  given,  she  seated  herself  near  us,  still  holding 
her  little  dog  curled  up  against  her  like  a  small  ball  of  silk. 
1  tried  to  converse,  but  could  find  nothing  suitable  to  say, — 
the  sight  of  her  filled  me  with  too  great  a  sense  of  self- 
reproach  and  shame.  She  was  such  a  quiet  graceful  creature, 
so  slight  and  dainty,  so  perfectly  unaffected  and  simple  in 
manner,  that  as  I  thought  of  the  slaughtering  article  I  had 
written  against  her  work  I  felt  like  a  low  brute  who  had  been 
stoning  a  child.  And  yet, — after  all  it  was  her  genius  I  hated, 
— the  force  and  passion  of  that  mystic  quality  which  wherever 
it  appears,  compels  the  world's  attention, — this  was  the  gift 
she  had  that  I  lacked  and  coveted.  Moved  by  the  most 
conflicting  sensations,  I  gazed  abstractedly  out  on  the  shady 
old  garden, — I  heard  Lucio  conversing  on  trifling  matters  of 
society  and  literature  generally,  and  every  now  and  then  her 
bright  laugh  rang  out  like  a  little  peal  of  bells.  Soon  I  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  that  she  was  looking  steadily  at  me,  and 
turning,  I  met  her  eyes, — deep  dense  blue  eyes,  candidly  grave 
and  clear. 

"Is  this  your  first  visit  to  Willowsmere  Court?"  she  asked. 

''  Yes,"  I  answered,  making  an  effort  to  appear  more  at  my 
ease.  ''Thought  the  place, — on  the  recommendation  of  my 
friend  the  prince  here,^-without  looking  at  it." 

"  So  I  heard,"  she  said,  still  observing  me  curiously.  "  And 
you  are  satisfied  with  it  ?' ' 

"  More  than  satisfied — I  am  delighted.  It  exceeds  all  my 
best  expectations." 

"  Mr  Tempest  is  going  to  marry  the  daughter  of  the  former 
owner  of  Willowsmere,"  put  in  Lucio.  "No  doubt  you 
have  seen  it  announced  in  the  papers?" 

19* 


2  22  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

''  Yes,"  she  responded  with  a  slight  smile,  "  I  have  seen  it, 
and  I  think  Mr  Tempest  is  much  to  be  congratulated.  Lady 
Sibyl  is  very  lovely, — 1  remember  her  as  a  beautiful  child  when 
I  was  a  child  myself.  I  never  spoke  to  her,  but  I  often  saw 
her.  She  must  be  charmed  at  the  prospect  of  returning  as  a 
bride  to  the  old  home  she  loved  so  well." 

Here  the  servant  entered  with  the  tea,  and  Miss  Clare, 
putting  down  her  tiny  dog,  went  to  the  table  to  dispense  it. 
1  watched  her  move  across  the  room  with  a  sense  of  vague 
wonder  and  reluctant  admiration, — she  rather  resembled  a 
picture  by  Greuze,  in  her  soft  white  gown  with  a  pale  rose 
nestled  amid  the  old  Flemish  lace  at  her  throat, — and  as  she 
turned  her  head  towards  us,  the  sunlight  caught  her  fair  hair 
and  turned  it  to  the  similitude  of  a  golden  halo  circling  her 
brows.  She  was  not  a  beauty ;  but  she  possessed  an  undoubted 
individual  charm, — a  delicate  attractiveness,  which  silently 
asserted  itself,  as  the  breath  of  honeysuckle  hidden  in  the 
tangles  of  a  hedge  will  delight  the  wayfarer  with  sweet  fra- 
grance, though  the  flowers  be  unseen. 

"Your  book  was  very  clever,  Mr  Tempest,"  she  said  sud- 
denly, smiling  at  me.  **  I  read  it  as  soon  as  it  came  out.  But 
do  you  know  I  think  your  article  was  even  cleverer?" 

I  felt  myself  growing  uncomfortably  red  in  the  face. 

"  To  what  article  do  you  allude,  Miss  Clare?"  I  stammered 
confusedly.      **  I  do  not  write  for  any  magazine." 

"No?"  and  she  laughed  gaily.  "But  you  did  on  this 
occasion!  You  'slated'  me  very  smartly? — I  quite  enjoyed 
it.  I  found  out  that  you  were  the  author  of  the  philippic, — 
not  through  the  editor  of  the  journal — oh  no,  poor  man  !  he 
is  very  discreet ;  but  through  quite  another  person  who  must 
be  nameless.  It  is  very  difficult  to  prevent  me  from  finding 
out  whatever  I  wish  to  know,  especially  in  literary  matters. 
Why,  you  look  quite  unhappy!"  and  her  blue  eyes  danced 
with  fun  as  she  handed  me  my  cup  of  tea.  "  You  really  don't 
suppose  I  was  hurt  by  your  critique,  do  you  ?  Dear  me,  no  ! 
Nothing  of  that  kind  ever  affronts  me, — I  am  far  too  busy  to 


THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN  223 

waste  any  thought  on  reviews  or  reviewers.  Only  your  article 
was  so  exceptionally  funny  !" 

"Funny?"  I  echoed  stupidly,  trying  to  smile,  but  failing 
in  the  effort. 

"  Yes,  funny  !"  she  repeated.  '*  It  was  so  very  angry  that  it 
became  amusing.  My  poor  '  Differences  !'  I  am  really  sorry 
it  put  you  into  such  a  temper, — temper  does  exhaust  one's 
energies  so !" 

She  laughed  again,  and  sat  down  in  her  former  place  near 
me,  regarding  me  with  a  frankly  open  and  half  humorous 
gaze  which  I  found  I  could  not  meet  with  any  sort  of  com- 
posure. To  say  I  felt  foolish,  would  inadequately  express  my 
sense  of  utter  bafflement.  This  woman  with  her  young  un- 
clouded face,  sweet  voice  and  evidently  happy  nature,  was  not 
at  all  the  creature  I  had  imagined  her  to  be, — and  I  struggled 
to  say  something, — anything, — that  would  furnish  a  reason- 
able and  coherent  answer.  I  caught  Lucio's  glance, — one  of 
satirical  amusement, — and  my  thoughts  grew  more  entangled 
than  ever.  A  distraction  however  occurred  in  the  behaviour 
of  the  dog  Tricksy,  who  suddenly  took  up  a  position  im- 
mediately opposite  Lucio,  and  lifting  his  nose  in  air  began 
to  howl  with  a  desolate  loudness  astonishing  in  so  small  an 
animal.     His  mistress  was  surprised. 

''Tricksy,  what  /s  the  matter?"  she  exclaimed,  catching 
him  up  in  her  arms  where  he  hid  his  face  shivering  and 
moaning ;  then  she  looked  steadily  at  Lucio.  ' '  I  never  knew 
him  do  such  a  thing  before,"  she  said.  *'  Perhaps  you  do  not 
like  dogs.  Prince  Rimanez?" 

'*  I  am  afraid  they  do  not  like  me  /"  he  replied  deferentially. 

"  Then  pray  excuse  me  a  moment,"  she  murmured,  and  left 
the  room,  to  return  immediately  without  her  canine  favourite. 
After  this  I  noticed  that  her  blue  eyes  often  rested  on  Lucio's 
handsome  countenance  with  a  bewildered  and  perplexed  ex- 
pression, as  if  she  saw  something  in  his  very  beauty  that  she 
disliked  or  distrusted.  Meanwhile  I  had  recovered  a  little  of 
my  usual  self-possession,  and  I  addressed  her  in  a  tone  which 


224  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

1  meant  to  be  kind,  but  which  I  knew  was  somewhat 
patronizing. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  Miss  Clare,  that  you  were  not  offended  at 
the  article  you  speak  of.  It  was  rather  strong  I  admit, — 
but  you  know  we  cannot  all  be  of  the  same  opinion  ..." 

"Indeed  no!"  she  said  quietly  and  with  a  slight  smile. 
"  Such  a  state  of  things  would  make  a  very  dull  world  !  I 
assure  you  I  was  not  and  am  not  in  the  least  offended — the 
critique  was  a  smart  piece  of  writing,  and  made  not  the 
slightest  effect  on  me  or  on  my  book.  You  remember  what 
Shelley  wrote  of  critics?  No?  You  will  find  the  passage 
in  his  preface  to  *The  Revolt  of  Islam,'  and  it  runs  thus, — 
'  I  have  sought  to  write  as  I  believe  that  Homer,  Shake- 
speare, and  Milton  wrote,  with  an  utter  disregard  of  anony- 
mous censure.  I  am  certain  that  calumny  and  misrepresenta- 
tion, though  it  may  move  me  to  compassion,  cannot  disturb 
my  peace.  I  shall  understand  the  expressive  silence  of  those 
sagacious  enemies  who  dare  not  trust  themselves  to  speak.  I 
shall  endeavour  to  extract  from  the  midst  of  insult  and  con- 
tempt and  maledictions,  those  admonitions  which  may  tend  to 
correct  whatever  imperfections  such  censurers  may  discern  in 
my  appeal  to  the  Public.  If  certain  Critics  were  as  clear- 
sighted as  they  are  malignant,  how  great  would  be  the  benefit 
to  be  derived  from  their  virulent  writings  !  As  it  is,  I  fear  I 
shall  be  malicious  enough  to  be  amused  with  their  paltry  tricks 
and  lame  invectives.  Should  the  public  judge  that  my  com- 
position is  worthless,  I  shall  indeed  bow  before  the  tribunal 
from  which  Milton  received  his  crown  of  immortality,  and 
shall  seek  to  gather,  if  I  live,  strength  from  that  defeat,  which 
may  nerve  me  to  some  new  enterprise  of  thought  which  may 
nc?/  be  worthless  ! '  " 

As  she  gave  the  quotation,  her  eyes  darkened  and  deep- 
ened, her  face  was  lighted  up  as  by  some  inward  illumina- 
tion, and  I  discovered  the  rich  sweetness  of  the  voice  which 
made  the  name  of  '  Mavis'  suit  her  so  well. 

*'  You  see  I  know  my  Shelley  !"  she  said  with  a  little  laugh 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  225 

at  her  own  emotion.  "And  those  words  are  particularly- 
familiar  to  me,  because  I  have  had  them  painted  up  on  a 
panel  in  my  study.  Just  to  remind  me,  in  case  I  should 
forget,  what  the  really  great  geniuses  of  the  world  thought 
of  criticism, — because  their  example  is  very  encouraging  and 
helpful  to  a  humble  little  worker  like  myself.  I  am  not  a 
press- favourite — and  I  never  get  good  reviews, — but — "  and 
she  laughed  again — "  I  like  my  reviewers  all  the  same  !  If 
you  have  finished  your  tea  will  you  come  and  see  them?" 

Come  and  see  them  !  What  did  she  mean  ?  She  seemed 
delighted  at  my  visible  surprise,  and  her  cheeks  dimpled  with 
merriment. 

''Come  and  see  them!"  she  repeated.  "  They  generally 
expect  me  at  this  hour  ! ' ' 

She  led  the  way  into  the  garden, — we  followed,  I,  in  a 
bewildered  confusion  of  mind,  with  all  my  ideas  respecting 
'unsexed  females'  and  repulsive  b'ue-stockings  upset  by  the 
unaffected  behaviour  and  charming  frankness  of  this  '  celebrity' 
whose  fame  I  envied,  and  whose  personality  I  could  not  but 
admire.     With  all  her  intellectual  gifts  she  was  yet  a  lovable 

woman, ah  Mavis  ! — how  lovable  and  dear  I  was  destined 

in  misery  to  know  !  Mavis,  Mavis  !  —I  whisper  your  sweet 
name  in  my  solitude, — I  see  you  in  my  dreams,  and  kneeling 
before  you  I  call  you  Angel !  — my  angel  at  the  gate  of  a  lost 
Paradise,  whose  Sword  of  Genius,  turning  every  way,  keeps 
me  back  from  all  approach  to  my  forfeited  Tree  of  Life ! 


XX 

Scarcely  had  we  stepped  out  on  the  lawn  before  an  un- 
pleasant incident  occurred  which  might  have  ended  danger- 
ously. At  his  mistress's  approach  the  big  St  Bernard  dog  rose 
from  the  sunny  corner  where  he  had  been  peacefully  dozing, 
and  prepared  to  greet  her, — but  as  soon  as  he  perceived  us 
P 


226  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

he  stopped  short  with  an  ominous  growl.  Before  Miss  Clare 
could  utter  a  warning  word,  he  made  a  couple  of  huge  bounds 
and  sprang  savagely  at  Lucio  as  though  to  tear  him  in  pieces. 
Lucio  with  admirable  presence  of  mind  caught  him  firmly  by 
the  throat  and  forced  him  backwards.  Mavis  turned  deathly 
pale. 

"  Let  me  hold  him  !  He  will  obey  me  !"  she  cried,  placing 
her  little  hand  on  the  great  dog's  neck.  ''  Down,  Emperor  ! 
Down  !     How  dare  you  !     Down  sir  ! " 

In  a  moment  *  Emperor'  dropped  to  the  ground,  and 
crouched  abjectly  at  her  feet,  breathing  heavily  and  trembling 
in  every  limb.  She  held  him  by  the  collar,  and  looked  up  at 
Lucio  who  was  perfectly  composed,  though  his  eyes  flashed 
dangerously. 

'' I  am  so  very  sorry  ! "  she  murmured.  "I  forgot, — you 
told  me  dogs  do  not  like  you.  But  what  a  singularly  marked 
antipathy,  is  it  not?  I  cannot  understand  it.  Emperor  is 
generally  so  good-natured, — I  must  apologize  for  his  bad  con- 
duct— it  is  quite  unusual.     I  hope  he  has  not  liurt  you?" 

*'  Not  at  all !"  returned  Lucio  affably  and  with  a  cold  smile. 
**  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  him, — or  distressed  j<??^  .^" 

She  made  no  reply,  but  led  the  St  Bernard  away  and  was 
absent  for  a  few  minutes.  While  she  was  gone,  Lucio' s  brow 
clouded,  and  his  face  grew  very  stern. 

"■  What  do  you  think  of  her?"  he  asked  me  abruptly. 

"I  hardly  know  what  to  think,"  I  answered  abstractedly. 
''  She  is  very  different  to  what  I  imagined.  Her  dogs  are 
rather  unpleasant  company  ! " 

**  They  are  honest  animals!"  he  said  morosely.  ''They 
are  no  'doubt  accustomed  to  candour  in  their  mistress,  and 
therefore  object  to  personified  lies." 

"Speak  for  yourself !"  I  said  irritably.  '' They  object  to 
you,  chiefly." 

''Am  I  not  fully  aware  of  that?"  he  retorted — "and  do  I 
not  speak  for  myself?  You  do  not  suppose  I  would  call  you 
a  personified  lie,  do  you, — even  if  it  were  true  !     I  would  not 


THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN  227 

be  so  uncivil.  But  I  am  a  living  lie,  and  knowing  it  I  admit 
it,  which  gives  me  a  certain  claim  to  honesty  above  the  ordi- 
nary run  of  men.  This  woman-wearer  of  laurels  is  a  personi- 
fied truth  ! — imagine  it ! — she  has  no  occasion  to  pretend  to 
be  anything  else  than  she  is  !     No  wonder  she  is  famous  !" 

I  said  nothing,  as  just  then  the  subject  of  our  conversation 
returned,  tranquil  and  smiling,  and  did  her  best,  with  the  tact 
and  grace  of  a  perfect  hostess,  to  make  us  forget  her  dog's 
ferocious  conduct,  by  escorting  us  through  a  1  the  prettiest 
turns  and  twisting  paths  of  her  garden,  which  was  quite  a 
bower  of  spring  beauty.  She  talked  to  us  both  with  equal 
ease,  brightness  and  cleverness,  though  I  observed  that  she 
studied  Lucio  with  close  interest,  and  watched  his  looks  and 
movements  with  more  curiosity  than  liking.  Passing  under 
an  arching  grove  of  budding  syringas  we  presently  came  to  an 
open  court-yard  paved  with  blue  and  white  tiles,  having,  in  its 
centre  a  picturesque  dove-cote  built  in  the  form  of  a  Chinese 
pagoda.  Here  pausing.  Mavis  clapped  her  hands.  A  cloud 
of  doves,  white,  grey,  brown,  and  opalescent,  answered  the 
summons,  circling  round  and  round  her  head,  and  flying  down 
m  excited  groups  at  her  feet. 

*'  Here  are  my  reviewers  !"  she  said  laughing.  ^'  Are  they 
not  pretty  creatures?  The  ones  I  know  best  are  named 
after  their  respective  journals, — there  are  plenty  of  anony- 
mous ones  of  course,  who  flock  in  with  the  rest.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  the  'Saturday  Review,'  "  and  she  picked  up  a 
strutting  bird  with  coral-tinted  feet,  who  seemed  to  rather  like 
the  attention  shown  to  him.  ''He  fights  with  all  his  com- 
panions and  drives  them  away  from  the  food  whenever  he 
can.  He  is  such  a  quarrelsome  creature  !" — here  she  stroked 
the  bird's  head.  "You  never  know  how  to  please  him, — he 
takes  offence  at  the  corn  sometimes,  and  will  only  eat  peas,  or 
vice  versa.  He  quite  deserves  his  name. — Go  away,  old  boy  !" 
and  she  flung  the  pigeon  in  the  air  and  watched  it  soaring  up 
and  down.  ''  He  is  such  a  comical  old  grumbler  !  There  is 
the  '  Speaker,'  "  and  she  pointed  to  a  fat  fussy  fan  tail.     "  He 


228  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

struts  very  well,  and  fancies  he's  important,  you  know,  but  he 
isn't.  Over  there  is  '  Public  Opinion,' — that  one  half-asleep 
on  the  wall ;  next  to  him  is  the  *  Spectator,' — you  see  he  has 
two  rings  round  his  eyes  like  spectacles.  That  brown  creature 
with  the  fluffy  wings  all  by  himself  on  that  flower-pot  is  the 
*  Nineteenth  Century,'  the  little  bird  with  the  green  neck  is 
the  'Westminster  Gazette,'  and  the  fat  one  sitting  on  the 
platform  of  the  cote  is  the  *  Pall-Mali. '  He  knows  his  name 
very  well — see  !"  and  she  called  merrily — "  Pall-Mali !  Come 
boy! — come  here!"  The  bird  obeyed  at  once,  and  flying 
down  from  the  cote,  settled  on  her  shoulder.  *'  There  are  so 
many  others, — it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  them  sometimes," 
she  continued.  "  Whenever  I  get  a  bad  review  I  name  a 
pigeon, — it  amuses  me.  That  draggle-tailed  one  with  the 
muddy  feet  is  the  '  Sketch,' — he  is  not  at  all  a  well-bred  bird 
I  must  tell  you  ! — that  smart-looking  dove  with  the  purple 
breast  is  the  'Graphic,'  and  that  bland  old  grey  thing  is  the 
'I.  L.  N.'  short  for  'Illustrated  London  News.'  Those  three 
white  ones  are  respectively  'Daily  Telegraph,'  'Morning 
Post,'  and  'Standard.'  Now  see  them  all!"  and  taking  a 
covered  basket  from  a  corner  she  began  to  scatter  corn  and 
peas  and  various  grains  in  lavish  quantities  all  over  the  court. 
For  a  moment  we  could  scarcely  see  the  sky,  so  thickly  the 
birds  flocked  together,  struggling,  fighting,  swooping  down- 
wards, and  soaring  upwards, — but  the  winged  confusion  soon 
gave  place  to  something  like  order  when  they  were  all  on  the 
ground,  and  busy  selecting  their  respective  favourite  foods  from 
the  different  sorts  provided  for  their  choice. 

"You  are  indeed  a  sweet-natured  philosopher,"  said  Lucio 
smiling,  "if  you  can  symbolize  your  adverse  reviewers  by  a 
flock  of  doves  ! ' ' 

She  laughed  merrily. 

"Well,  it  is  a  remedy  against  all  irritation,"  she  returned. 
"  I  used  to  worry  a  good  deal  over  my  work,  and  wonder  why 
it  was  that  the  press  people  were  so  unnecessarily  hard  upon 
me,  when  they  showed  so  much  leniency  and  encouragement 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  229 

to  far  worse  writers, — but  after  a  little  serious  consideration, 
finding  that  critical  opinion  carried  no  sort  of  conviction 
whatever  to  the  public,  I  determined  to  trouble  no  more  about 
it, — except  in  the  way  of  doves  !" 

"In  the  way  of  doves,  you  feed  your  reviewers,"  I  ob- 
served. 

"  Exactly  !  And  I  suppose  I  help  to  feed  them  even  as 
women  and  men!"  she  said.  "They  get  something  from 
their  editors  for  'slashing'  my  work, — and  they  probably 
make  a  little  more  out  of  selling  their  'review  copies.'  So 
you  see  the  dove-emblem  holds  good  throughout.  But 
you  have  not  seen  the  'Athenaeum,'  oh,  you  7nust  see 
him!" 

With  laughter  still  lurking  in  her  blue  eyes,  she  took  us  out 
of  the  pigeon-court,  and  led  the  way  round  to  a  sequestered 
and  shady  corner  of  the  garden,  where,  in  a  large  aviary-cage 
fitted  up  for  its  special  convenience,  sat  a  solemn  white  owl. 
The  instant  it  perceived  us,  it  became  angry,  and  ruffling  up 
its  downy  feathers,  rolled  its  glistening  yellow  eyes  vindictively 
and  opened  its  beak.  Two  smaller  owls  sat  in  the  background, 
pressed  close  together, — one  grey,  the  other  brown. 

"  Cross  old  boy  !"  said  Mavis,  addressing  the  spiteful-look- 
ing creature  in  the  sweetest  of  accents.  "  Haven't  you  found 
any  mice  to  kill  to-day?  Oh,  what  wicked  eyes! — what  a 
snappy  mouth !"  Then  turning  to  us,  she  went  on — "Isn't 
he  a  lovely  owl?  Doesn't  he  look  wise? — but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  he's  just  as  stupid  as  ever  he  can  be.  That  is  why 
I  call  him  the  'Athenaeum'  !  He  looks  so  profound,  you'd 
fancy  he  knows  everything, — but  he  really  thinks  of  nothing 
but  killing  mice  all  the  time, — which  limits  his  intelligence 
considerably  !" 

Lucio  laughed  heartily,  and  so  did  I, — she  looked  so  mis- 
chievous and  merry. 

"But  there  are  two  other  owls  in  the  cage,"  I  said. 
"  What  are  their  names  ?' ' 

She  held  up  a  little  finger  in  playful  warning. 


230 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 


*'  Ah,  that  would  be  telling  secrets  !"  she  said.  ''  They're 
all  the  'Athenaeum' — the  holy  Three — a  sort  of  literary 
Trinity.  But  why  a  Trinity  I  do  not  venture  to  explain  !  — 
it  is  a  riddle  I  must  leave  you  to  guess  !" 

She  moved  on,  and  we  followed  across  a  velvety  grass-plot 
bordered  with  bright  spring-flowers,  such  as  crocuses,  tulips, 
anemones,  and  hyacinths,  and  presently  pausing  she  asked, 
''  Would  you  care  to  see  m)'  work-room?" 

I  found  myself  agreeing  to  this  proposition  with  an  almost 
boyish  enthusiasm.  Lucio  glanced  at  me  with  a  slight  half- 
cynical  smile. 

"  Miss  Clare,  are  you  going  to  name  a  pigeon  after  Mr 
Tempest?"  he  inquired.  "  He  played  the  part  of  an  adverse 
critic,  you  know — but  I  doubt  whether  he  will  ever  do  so 
again  !" 

She  looked  round  at  me  and  smiled. 

''Oh,  I  have  been  merciful  to  Mr  Tempest,"  she  replied. 
"  He  is  among  the  anonymous  birds  whom  I  do  not  specially 
recognise  !" 

She  stepped  into  the  arched  embrasure  of  an  open  window 
which  fronted  the  view  of  the  grass  and  flowers,  and  entering 
with  her,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  large  room,  octagonal  in 
shape,  where  the  first  object  that  attracted  and  riveted  the 
attention  was  a  marble  bust  of  the  Pallas  Athene,  whose  grave 
impassive  countenance  and  iranquil  brows  directly  faced  the 
sun.  A  desk  strewn  with  papers  occupied  the  left-hand  side 
of  the  window-nook, — in  a  corner  draped  with  olive-green 
velvet,  the  white  presence  of  the  Apollo  Belvedere  taught  in 
his  inscrutable  yet  radiant  smile,  the  lesson  of  love  and  the 
triumphs  of  fame — and  numbers  of  books  were  about,  not 
ranged  in  formal  rows  on  shelves  as  if  they  were  never  read, 
but  placed  on  low  tables  and  wheeled  stands,  that  they  might 
be  easily  taken  up  and  glanced  at.  The  arrangement  of  the 
walls  chiefly  excited  my  interest  and  admiration,  for  these 
were  divided  into  panels,  and  every  panel  had,  inscribed  upon 
it  in  letters  of  gold,  some  phrase  from  the  philosophers,  or 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  231 

some  verse  from  the  poets.  The  passage  from  Shelley  which 
Mavis  had  recently  quoted  to  us,  occupied,  as  she  had  said, 
one  panel,  and  above  it  hung  a  beautiful  bas-relief  of  the 
drowned  poet,  copied  from  the  monument  at  Via  Reggio. 
Another  and  broader  panel  held  a  fine  engraved  portrait  of 
Shakespeare,  and  under  the  picture  appeared  the  lines — 

"  To  thine  own  self  be  true, 
And  it  must  follow  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 


Byron  was  represented, — also  Keats  ;  but  it  would  have 
taken  more  than  a  day  to  examine  the  various  suggestive 
quaintnesses  and  individual  charms  of  this  'workshop,'  as  its 
owner  called  it,  though  the  hour  was  to  come  when  I  should 
know  every  corner  of  it  by  heart,  and  look  upon  it  as  a 
haunted  outlaw  of  bygone  ages  looked  upon  *  sanctuary.' 
But  now  time  gave  us  little  pause, — and  when  we  had  suffi- 
ciently expressed  our  pleasure  and  gratitude  for  the  kindness 
with  which  we  had  been  received,  Lucio,  glancing  at  his 
watch,  suggested  departure. 

''We  could  stay  on  here  for  an  indefinite  period,  Miss 
Clare,"  he  said  wnth  an  unwonted  softness  in  his  dark  eyes. 
"It  is  a  place  for  peace  and  happy  meditation, — a  restful 
corner  for  a  tired  soul."  He  checked  a  slight  sigh, — then 
went  on — "  But  trains  wait  for  no  man,  and  we  are  returning 
to  town  to-night." 

"  Then  I  wdll  not  detain  you  any  longer,"  said  our  young 
hostess,  leading  the  way  at  once  by  a  side-door,  through  a 
passage  filled  with  flowering  plants,  into  the  drawing-room 
where  she  had  first  entertained  us.  "I  hope,  Mr  Tempest," 
she  added,  smiling  at  me,  "  that  now  we  have  met,  you  will 
no  longer  desire  to  qualify  as  one  of  my  pigeons  !  It  is 
scarcely  worth  while  !" 

"Miss  Clare,"  I  said,  now  speaking  with  unaffected  sin- 
cerity, "  I  assure  you,  on  my  honour,  I  am  very  sorry  I  wrote 


232  THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

that  article  against  you.  If  I  had  only  known  you  as  you 
are — ' ' 

''Oh,  that  should  make  no  difference  to  a  critic!"  she 
answered  merrily. 

*'  It  would  have  made  a  great  difference  to  me,"  I  declared. 
"You  are  so  unlike  the  objectionable  '  literary  woman' — "  I 
paused,  and  she  regarded  me  smilingly  with  her  bright  clear 
candid  eyes, — then  I  added — ''I  must  tell  you  that  Sibyl, — 
Lady  Sibyl  Elton, — is  one  of  your  most  ardent  admirers." 

''  I  am  very  pleased  to  hear  that,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  am 
always  glad  when  I  succeed  in  winning  somebody's  approval 
and  liking." 

''Does  not  everyone  approve  and  admire  you?"  asked 
Lucio. 

"  Oh,  no  !  By  no  means  !  The  '  Saturday'  says  I  only  win 
the  applause  of  shop-girls!"  and  she  laughed.  "Poor  old 
'  Saturday'  ! — the  writers  on  its  staff  are  so  jealous  of  any  suc- 
cessful author.  I  told  the  Prince  of  Wales  what  it  said  the 
other  day,  and  he  was  very  much  amused. ' ' 

"You  know  the  Prince?"  I  asked,  in  a  little  surprise. 

"  Well,  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  he  knows  me," 
she  replied.  "He  has  been  very  good  in  taking  some  little 
interest  in  my  books.  He  knows  a  good  deal  about  litera- 
ture too, — much  more  than  people  give  him  credit  for.  He 
has  been  here  more  than  once, — and  has  seen  me  feed  my  re- 
viewers— the  pigeons,  you  know  !  He  rather  enjoyed  the  fun, 
I  think!" 

And  this  was  all  the  result  of  the  '  slating'  the  press  gave  to 
Mavis  Clare  !  Simply  that  she  named  her  doves  after  her 
critics,  and  fed  them  in  the  presence  of  whatever  royal  or  dis- 
tinguished visitors  she  might  have  (and  I  afterwards  learned 
she  had  many),  amid,  no  doubt,  much  laughter  from  those  who 
saw  the  'Spectator'  pigeon  fighting  for  grains  of  corn,  or  the 
'  Saturday  Review'  pigeon  quarrelling  over  peas  !  Evidently 
no  reviewer,  spiteful  or  otherwise,  could  affect  the  vivacious 
nature  of  such  a  mischievous  elf  as  she  was. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  233 

"How  different  7011  are — how  widely  different — to  the 
ordinary  run  of  literary  people  !"  I  said  involuntarily. 

''I  am  glad  you  find  me  so,"  she  answered.  **I  hope  I 
am  different.  As  a  rule,  literary  people  take  themselves  far 
too  seriously  and  attach  too  much  importance  to  what  they  do. 
That  is  why  they  become  such  bores.  I  don't  believe  anyone 
ever  did  thoroughly  good  work  who  was  not  perfectly  happy 
over  it  and  totally  indifferent  to  opinion.  I  should  be  quite 
content  to  write  on,  if  I  only  had  a  garret  to  live  in.  I  was 
once  very  poor, — shockingly  poor ;  and  even  now  I  am  not 
rich,  but  I've  got  just  enough  to  keep  me  working  steadily, 
which  is  as  it  should  be.  If  I  had  more,  I  might  get  lazy  and 
neglect  my  work, — then  you  know  Satan  might  step  into  my 
life,  and  it  would  be  a  question  of  idle  hands  and  mischief  to 
follow,  according  to  the  adage." 

"  I  think  you  would  have  strength  enough  to  resist  Satan," 
said  Lucio,  looking  at  her  stedfastly,  with  sombre  scrutiny  in 
his  expressive  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that, — I  could  not  be  sure  of 
myself!"  and  she  smiled.  "I  should  imagine  he  must  be  a 
dangerously  fascinating  personage.  I  never  picture  him  as 
the  possessor  of  hoofs  and  a  tail, — common-sense  assures  me 
that  no  creature  presenting  himself  under  such  an  aspect 
would  have  the  slightest  power  to  attract.  Milton's  conception 
of  Satan  is  the  finest," — and  her  eyes  darkened  swiftly  with 
the  intensity  of  her  thoughts — "  A  mighty  Angel  fallen  ! — one 
cannot  but  be  sorry  for  such  a  fall,  if  the  legend  were  true  !" 

There  was  a  sudden  silence.  A  bird  sang  outside,  and  a 
little  breeze  swayed  the  lilies  in  the  window  to  and  fro. 

"  Good-bye,  Mavis  Clare  !"  said  Lucio  very  softly,  almost 
tenderly.  His  voice  was  low  and  tremulous — his  face  grave 
and  pale.     She  looked  up  at  him  in  a  little  surprise. 

"  Good-bye  !"  she  rejoined,  extending  her  small  hand.  He 
held  it  a  moment, — then,  to  my  secret  astonishment,  knowing 
his  aversion  to  women,  stooped  and  kissed  it.  She  flushed 
rosily  as  she  withdrew  it  from  his  clasp. 


234  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"Be  always  as  you  are,  Mavis  Clare,"  he  said  gently. 
*'  Let  nothin^r  change  you  !  Keep  that  bright  nature  of  yours, 
— that  unruffled  spirit  of  quiet  contentment,  and  you  may 
wear  the  bitter  laurel  of  fame  as  sweetly  as  a  rose.  I  have  seen 
the  world ;  I  have  travelled  far,  and  have  met  many  famous 
men  and  women, — kings  and  queens,  senators,  poets  and 
philosophers, — my  experience  has  been  wide  and  varied,  so 
that  I  am  not  altogether  without  authority  for  what  I  say, — and 
I  assure  you  that  the  Satan  of  whom  you  are  able  to  speak  with 
compassion,  can  never  trouble  the  peace  of  a  pure  and  con- 
tented soul.  Like  consorts  with  like, — a  fallen  angel  seeks 
the  equally  fallen, — and  the  devil, — if  there  be  one, — be- 
comes the  companion  of  those  only  who  take  pleasure  in  his 
teaching  and  society.  Legends  say  he  is  afraid  of  a  crucifix, 
— but  if  he  is  afraid  of  anything  I  should  say  it  must  be  of 
that  '  sweet  content'  concerning  which  your  country's  Shake- 
speare sings,  and  which  is  a  better  defence  against  evil  than  the 
church  or  the  prayers  of  the  clergy !  I  speak  as  one  having 
the  right  of  age  to  speak, — I  am  so  many  many  years  older 
than  you  ! — you  must  forgive  me  if  I  have  said  too  much  !" 

She  was  quite  silent ;  evidently  moved  and  surprised  at  his 
words  ;  and  she  gazed  at  him  with  a  vaguely  wondering,  half- 
awed  expression, — an  expression  which  changed  directly  I 
myself  advanced  to  make  my  adieu. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  have  met  you.  Miss  Clare,"  I  said. 
"  I  hope  we  shall  be  friends  !" 

"There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  be  enemies  I  think," 
she  responded  frankly.  "  I  am  very  pleased  you  came  to-day. 
If  ever  you  want  to  '  slate'  me  again,  you  know  your  fate  ! — 
you  become  a  dove, — nothing  more  !     Good-bye  !" 

She  saluted  us  prettily  as  we  passed  out,  and  when  the  gate 
had  closed  behind  us  we  heard  the  deep  and  joyous  baying  of 
the  great  dog  'Emperor,'  evidently  released  from  'durance 
vile'  immediately  on  our  departure.  We  walked  on  for  some 
time  in  silence,  and  it  was  not  till  we  had  re-entered  the 
grounds  of  Willowsmere,  and  were  making  our  way  to  the 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  235 

drive,  where  the  carriage  which  was  to  take  us  to  the  station 
already  awaited  us,  that  Lucio  said  — 

**  Well ;  710W,  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?" 

*'  She  is  as  unlike  the  accepted  ideal  of  the  female  novelist 
as  she  can  well  be,"  I  answered,  with  a  laugh. 

"Accepted  ideals  are  generally  mistaken  ones,"  he  ob- 
served, watching  me  narrowly.  *' An  accepted  ideal  of  Divinity 
in  some  church  pictures,  is  an  old  man's  face  set  in  a  triangle. 
The  accepted  ideal  of  the  devil  is  a  nondescript  creature,  with 
horns,  hoofs  (one  of  them  cloven)  and  a  tail,  as  Miss  Clare 
just  now  remarked.  The  accepted  ideal  of  beauty  is  the 
Venus  de  Medicis, — whereas  your  Lady  Sibyl  entirely  tran- 
scends that  much  over-rated  statue.  The  accepted  ideal  of  a 
poet  is  Apollo, — he  was  a  god, — and  no  poet  in  the  flesh  ever 
approaches  the  god-like.  And  the  accepted  ideal  of  the 
female  novelist,  is  an  elderly,  dowdy,  spectacled,  frowsy 
fright, — Mavis  Clare  does  not  fulfil  this  description,  yet  she  is 
the  author  of  '  Differences. '  Now  McWhing,  who  thrashes 
her  continually  in  all  the  papers  he  can  command,  is  elderly, 
ugly,  spectacled  and  frowsy,  and  he  is  the  author  of — nothing ! 
Women- authors  are  invariably  supposed  to  be  hideous, — men 
authors  for  the  most  part  are  hideous.  But  their  hideousness 
is  not  noted  or  insisted  upon, — whereas,  no  matter  how  good- 
looking  women  writers  may  be,  they  still  pass  under  press- 
comment  as  frights,  because  the  fiat  of  press-opinion  considers 
they  ought  to  be  frights,  even  if  they  are  not.  A  pretty 
authoress  is  an  offence, — an  incongruity, — a  something  that 
neither  men  nor  women  care  about.  Men  don't  care  about 
her,  because  being  clever  and  independent,  she  does  not  often 
care  about  them, — women  don't  care  about  her,  because  she 
has  the  effrontery  to  combine  attractive  looks  with  intelligence, 
and  she  makes  an  awkward  rival  to  those  who  have  only  attrac- 
tive looks  without  intelligence.     So  wags  the  world  ! — 

O  wild  world  ! — circling  through  aeons  untold, — 

'Mid  fires  of  sunrise  and  sunset, — through  flashes  of  silver  and  gold, — 

Grain  of  dust  in  a  storm, — atom  of  sand  by  the  sea, — 

What  is  your  worth,  O  world,  to  the  Angels  of  God  and  me ! 


236  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

He  sang  this  quite  suddenly,  his  rich  baritone  pealing  out 
musically  on  the  warm  silent  air.     I  listened  entranced. 

"  What  a  voice  you  have  !"  I  exclaimed.  '*  What  a  glorious 
gift!" 

He  smiled,  and  sang  on,  his  dark  eyes  flashing — 

O  wild  world  !   mote  in  a  burning  ray 

Flung  from  the  spherical  Heavens  millions  of  spaces  away — 

Sink  in  the  ether  or  soar  !     Live  with  the  planets  or  die  !— 

What  should  I  care  for  your  fate,  who  am  one  with  the  Infinite  Sky  1 

''What  Strange  song  is  that?"  I  asked,  startled  and  thrilled 
by  the  passion  of  his  voice.      *'  It  seems  to  mean  nothing  !" 

He  laughed,  and  took  my  arm. 

"It  does  mean  nothing!"  he  said.  ''All  drawing-room 
songs  mean  nothing.  Mine  is  a  drawing-room  song — calcu- 
lated to  waken  emotional  impulses  in  the  unloved  spinster, 
religiously  inclined  !" 

"Nonsense  !"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  Exactly.  That  is  what  I  say.  It  is  nonsense."  Here  we 
came  up  to  the  carriage  which  waited  for  us.  "Just  twenty 
minutes  to  catch  the  train,  Geoffrey  !     Off  we  go  !" 

And  off  we  did  go, — I  watching  the  red  gabled  roofs  of 
Willowsmere  Court  shining  in  the  late  sunshine,  till  a  turn  in 
the  road  hid  them  from  view. 

"You  like  your  purchase?"  queried  Lucio  presently. 

"I  do.     Immensely  !" 

"  And  your  rival.  Mavis  Clare?     Do  you  like  her?" 

I  paused  a  moment,  then  answered  frankly — 

"  Yes.  I  like  her.  And  I  will  admit  something  more  than 
that  to  you  now.  I  like  her  book.  It  is  a  noble  work, — • 
worthy  of  the  most  highly-gifted  man.  I  always  liked  it — 
and  because  I  liked  it,  I  slated  it." 

"  Rather  a  mysterious  course  of  procedure  !"  and  he  smiled. 
"  Can  you  not  explain?" 

"  Of  course  I  can  explain,"  I  said.  "  Explanation  is  easy. 
I  envied  her  power — I  envy  it  still.  Her  popularity  caused 
me  a  smarting  sense  of  injury,  and  to  relieve  it  I  wrote  that 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  237 

article  against  her.  But  I  shall  never  do  anything  of  the  kind 
again.     I  shall  let  her  grow  her  laurels  in  peace." 

"  Laurels  have  a  habit  of  growing  without  any  permission," 
observed  Lucio  significantly.  "In  all  sorts  of  unexpected 
places  too.  And  they  can  never  be  properly  cultivated  in  the 
forcing-house  of  criticism." 

"I  know  that!"  I  said  quickly,  my  thoughts  reverting  to 
my  own  book,  and  all  the  favourable  criticisms  that  had  been 
heaped  upon  it.  "I  have  learned  that  lesson  thoroughly,  by 
heart!" 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly. 

''  It  is  only  one  of  many  you  may  have  yet  to  learn,"  he  said. 
''It  is  a  lesson  in  fame.  Your  next  course  of  instruction 
will  be  in  love." 

He  smiled, — but  I  was  conscious  of  a  certain  dread  and 
discomfort  as  he  spoke.  I  thought  of  Sibyl  and  her  incom- 
parable beauty — Sibyl,  who  had  told  me  she  could  not  love, 
— had  we  both  to  learn  a  lesson  ?  And  should  we  master  it  ? 
— or  would  it  master  us  ? 


XXI 

The  preparations  for  my  marriage  now  went  on  apace, — 
shoals  of  presents  began  to  arrive  for  Sibyl  as  well  as  for  my- 
self, and  I  was  introduced  to  an  hitherto  undemonstrated  phase 
(as  far  I  personally  was  concerned)  of  the  vulgarity  and  hypoc- 
risy of  fashionable  society.  Everyone  knew  the  extent  of  my 
wealth,  and  how  little  real  necessity  there  was  for  offering  me 
or  my  bride-elect  costly  gifts ;  nevertheless,  all  our  so-called 
'  friends'  and  acquaintances,  strove  to  outvie  each  other  in  the 
gross  cash-value,  if  not  in  the  good  taste  of  their  various  dona- 
tions. Had  we  been  a  young  couple  bravely  beginning  the 
world  on  true  love,  in  more  or  less  uncertainty  as  to  our  pros- 
pects and  future  income;  we  should  have  received  nothing 


238  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

either  useful  or  valuable, — everyone  would  have  tried  to  do  the 
present-giving  in  as  cheap  and  mean  a  way  as  possible.  In- 
stead of  handsome  services  of  solid  silver,  we  should  have  had 
a  meagre  collection  of  plated  teaspoons ;  instead  of  costly 
editions  of  books  sumptuously  enriched  with  fine  steel  en- 
gravings, we  might  possibly  have  had  to  express  our  gratitude 
for  a  ten-shilling  Family  Bible.  Of  course  I  fully  realized  the 
actual  nature  and  object  of  the  lavish  extravagance  displayed 
on  this  occasion  by  our  social  'set,' — their  gifts  were  merely 
so  many  bribes,  sent  with  a  purpose  which  was  easy  enough  to 
fathom.  The  donors  wished  to  be  invited  to  the  wedding  in 
the  first  place, — after  that,  they  sought  to  be  included  in  our 
visiting-list,  and  foresaw  invitations  to  our  dinners  and  house- 
parties  ; — and  more  than  this  they  calculated  on  our  influence 
in  society,  and  the  possible  chance  their  might  be  in  the  dim 
future  of  our  lending  some  of  them  money  should  pressing 
occasion  require  it.  In  the  scant  thankfulness  and  suppressed 
contempt  their  adulatory  offerings  excited,  Sibyl  and  I  were 
completely  at  one.  She  looked  upon  her  array  of  glittering 
valuables  with  the  utmost  weariness  and  indifference,  and  flat- 
tered my  self-love  by  assuring  me  that  the  only  things  she  cared 
at  all  for  were  the  riviere  of  sapphires  and  diamonds  I  had 
given  her  as  a  betrothal-pledge,  together  with  an  engagement- 
ring  of  the  same  lustrous  gems.  Yet  I  noticed  she  also  had  a 
great  liking  for  Lucio's  present,  which  was  a  truly  magnificent 
masterpiece  of  the  jeweller's  art.  It  was  a  girdle  in  the  form 
of  a  serpent,  the  body  entirely  composed  of  the  finest  emeralds, 
and  the  head  of  rubies  and  diamonds.  Flexible  as  a  reed, 
when  Sibyl  put  it  on  it  appeared  to  spring  and  coil  round  her 
waist  like  a  living  thing,  and  breathe  with  her  breathing.  I 
did  not  much  care  for  it  myself  as  an  ornament  for  a  young 
bride, — it  seemed  to  me  quite  unsuitable, — but  as  everyone 
else  admired  it  and  envied  the  possessor  of  such  superb  jewels, 
I  said  nothing  of  my  own  distaste.  Diana  Chesney  had  shown 
a  certain  amount  of  delicate  sentiment  and  refinement  in  her 
offering, — it  was  a  very  exquisite  marble  statue  of   Psyche, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  239 

mounted  on  a  pedestal  of  solid  silver  and  ebony.  Sibyl 
thanked  her,  smiling  coldly. 

''You  have  given  me  an  emblem  of  the  Soul,"  she  said. 
*'  No  doubt  you  remembered  I  have  no  soul  of  my  own." 

And  her  airy  laugh  had  chilled  poor  Diana  '  to  the  marrow,' 
as  the  warm-hearted  little  American  herself,  with  tears,  assured 
me.  At  this  period  I  saw  very  little  of  Rimanez.  I  was  much 
occupied  with  my  lawyers  on  the  question  of  'settlements.' 
Me.-5srs  Bentham  and  Ellis  rather  objected  to  the  arrangement 
by  which  I  gave  the  half  of  my  fortune  to  my  intended  wife 
unconditionally ;  but  I  would  brook  no  interference,  and  the 
deed  was  drawn  up,  signed,  sealed  and  witnessed.  The  Earl 
of  Elton  could  not  sufficiently  praise  my  '  unexampled  gener- 
osity'— my  'noble  character,' — and  walked  about,  eulogizing 
me  everywhere,  till  he  almost  turned  himself  into  a  public 
advertisement  of  the  virtues  of  his  future  son-in-law.  He 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  new  lease  of  life, — he  flirted  with 
Diana  Chesney  openly, — and  of  his  paralyzed  spouse  with  the 
fixed  stare  and  deathly  grin,  he  never  spoke,  and,  I  imagine, 
never  thought.  Sibyl  herself  was  always  in  the  hands  of 
dressmakers  and  milliners, — and  we  only  saw  each  other  every 
day  for  a  few  minutes'  hurried  chat.  On  these  occasions  she 
was  always  charming, — even  affectionate  ;  and  yet, — though  I 
was  full  of  passionate  admiration  and  love  for  her,  I  felt  that 
she  was  mine  merely  as  a  slave  might  be  mine  ;  that  she  gave 
me  her  lips  to  kiss  as  if  she  considered  I  had  a  right  to  kiss 
them  because  I  had  bought  them,  and  for  no  other  reason, — 
that  her  pretty  caresses  were  studied,  and  her  whole  behaviour 
the  result  of  careful  forethought  and  not  natural  impulsive- 
ness. I  tried  to  shake  off  this  impression,  but  it  still  re- 
mained persistently,  and  clouded  the  sweetness  of  my  brief 
courtship. 

Meanwhile,  slowly  and  almost  imperceptibly,  my  '  boomed' 
book  dropped  out  of  notice.  Morgeson  presented  a  heavy 
bill  of  publishing  costs  which  I  paid  without  a  murmur;  now 
and  then  an  allusion  to  my  '  literary  triumphs'  cropped  up  in 


240  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

one  or  other  of  the  newspapers,  but  otherwise  no  one  spoke  of 
my  *  famous'  work,  and  few  read  it.  I  enjoyed  the  same  sort 
of  '  cliquey'  reputation  and  public  failure  attending  Pater's 
novel  entitled  '  Marius  the  Epicurean.'  The  journalists  with 
whom  I  had  come  in  contact,  began  to  drift  away  like  flotsam 
and  jetsam ;  I  think  they  saw  I  was  not  likely  to  give  many 
more  '  reviewing'  dinners  or  suppers,  and  that  my  marriage 
with  the  Earl  of  Elton's  daughter  would  lift  me  into  an  atmos- 
phere where  '  Grub-street'  could  not  breathe  comfortably,  or 
stretch  its  legs  at  ease.  The  heap  of  gold  on  which  I  sat  as 
on  a  throne,  divided  me  gradually  from  even  the  back  courts 
and  lower  passages  leading  to  the  Temple  of  Fame,  and  almost 
unconsciously  to  myself  I  retreated  step  by  step,  shading  my  eyes 
as  it  were  from  the  sun,  and  seeing  the  glittering  turrets  in  the 
distance,  with  a  woman's  slight  figure  entering  the  lofty  por- 
tico, turning  back  her  laurelled  head  to  smile  sorrowfully  and 
with  divinest  pity  upon  me,  ere  passing  in  to  salute  the  gods. 
Yet,  if  asked  about  it,  everyone  on  the  press  would  have 
said  that  I  had  had  a  great  success.  I — only  I — realized  the 
bitterness  and  truth  of  my  failure.  I  had  not  touched  the 
heart  of  the  public  ; — I  had  not  succeeded  in  so  waking  my 
readers  out  of  the  torpor  of  their  dull  and  commonplace  every ^' 
day  lives,  that  they  should  turn  towards  me  with  outstretched 
hands,  exclaiming — "  More, — more  of  these  thoughts  which 
comfort  and  inspire  us  ! — which  make  us  hear  God's  voice 
proclaiming  *  All's  well !'  above  the  storms  of  life  !"  I  had 
not  done  it, — I  could  not  do  it.  And  the  worst  part  of  my 
feelings  on  this  point  was  the  idea  that  possibly  I  might  have 
done  it  had  I  remained  poor !  The  strongest  and  healthiest 
pulse  in  the  composition  of  a  man, — the  necessity  for  hard 
work, — had  been  killed  in  me.  I  knew  I  need  not  work ;  that 
the  society  in  which  I  now  moved  thought  it  ridiculous  if  I 
did  work  ;  that  I  was  expected  to  spend  money  and  *  enjoy' 
myself  in  the  idiotic  fashion  of  what  the  '  upper  ten'  term 
enjoyment.  My  acquaintances  were  not  slow  in  suggesting 
plans  for  the  dissipation  of  my  surplus  cash, — why  did  I  not 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  241 

build  for  myself  a  marble  palace  on  the  Riviera? — or  a  yacht 
to  completely  outshine  the  Prince  of  Wales's  '  Britannia'  ? 
Why  did  I  not  start  a  theatre  ?  or  found  a  newspaper  ?  Not 
one  of  my  social  advisers  once  proposed  my  doing  any  private 
personal  good  with  my  fortune.  When  some  terrible  case  of 
distress  was  published,  and  subscriptions  were  raised  to  relieve 
the  object  or  objects  of  suffering,  I  invariably  gave  Ten 
Guineas,  and  allowed  myself  to  be  thanked  for  my  '  generous 
assistance.'  I  might  as  well  have  given  ten  pence,  for  the 
guineas  were  no  more  to  me  in  comparison  than  the  pence. 
When  funds  were  started  to  erect  a  statue  to  some  great  man 
who  had,  in  the  usual  way  of  the  world,  been  a  victim  of  mis- 
representation till  his  death,  I  produced  my  Ten  Guineas 
again,  when  I  could  easily  have  defrayed  the  whole  cost 
of  the  memorial,  with  honour  to  myself,  and  been  none  the 
poorer.  With  all  my  wealth  I  did  nothing  noteworthy;  I 
showered  no  unexpected  luck  in  the  way  of  the  patient,  strug- 
gling workers  in  the  hard  schools  of  literature  and  art ;  I  gave 
no  *  largesse'  among  the  poor  ; — and  when  a  thin  eager-eyed 
curate  with  a  strong  earnest  face,  called  upon  me  one  day,  to 
represent,  with  much  nervous  diffidence,  the  hideous  sufferings 
of  some  of  the  sick  and  starving  in  his  district  down  by  the 
docks,  and  suggested  that  I  might  possibly  care  to  alleviate  a 
few  of  these  direful  sorrows  as  a  satisfaction  to  myself,  as  well 
as  for  the  sake  of  human  brotherhood,  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
I  let  hiin  go  with  a  sovereign,  for  v/hich  he  heaped  coals  of  fire 
on  my  head  by  his  simple  '  God  bless  you,  and  thank  you.' 
I  could  see  he  was  himself  in  the  grip  of  poverty, — I  could 
have  made  him  and  his  poor  district  gloriously  happy  by  a  few 
strokes  of  my  pen  on  a  cheque  for  an  amount  I  should  never 
have  missed, — and  yet — I  gave  him  nothing  but  that  one  piece 
of  gold,  and  so  allowed  him  to  depart.  He  invited  me,  with 
earnest  goodwill,  to  go  and  see  his  starving  flock, — "  for,  be- 
lieve me,  Mr  Tempest,"  said  he,  "1  should  be  sorry  if  you 
thought,  as  some  of  the  wealthy  are  unhappily  apt  to  do,  that 
I  seek  money  simply  to  apply  it  to  my  own  personal  uses.     If 

1.  q  21 


242  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

you  would  visit  the  district  yourself,  and  distribute  whatever 
you  pleased  with  your  own  hand,  it  would  be  infinitely  more 
gratifying  to  me,  and  would  have  a  far  better  effect  on  the 
minds  of  the  people.  For,  sir,  the  poor  will  not  always  be 
patient  under  the  cruel  burdens  they  have  to  bear." 

I  smiled  indulgently,  and  assured  him,  not  without  a  touch 
of  satire  in  my  tone,  that  I  was  convinced  all  clergymen  were 
honest  and  unselfish, — and  then  I  sent  my  servant  to  bow  him 
out  with  all  possible  politeness.  And  that  very  day  I  remem- 
ber, I  drank  at  my  luncheon  Chateau  Yquem  at  twenty-five 
shillings  a  bottle. 

I  enter  into  these  apparently  trifling  details  because  they 
all  help  to  make  up  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  deadly  con- 
sequences to  follow, — and  also  because  I  wish  to  emphasize 
the  fact  that  in  my  actions  I  only  imitated  the  example  of  my 
compeers.  Every  rich  man  to-day  follows  the  same  course  as 
I  did, — and  active  personal  good  to  the  community  is  wrought 
by  none  of  them.  No  great  deed  of  generosity  illumines  our 
annals.  Royalty  itself  leads  no  fashion  in  this, — the  royal 
gifts  of  game  and  cast-off  clothing  sent  to  our  hospitals  are  too 
slight  and  conventional  to  carry  weight.  The  *  entertainments 
for  the  poor'  got  up  by  some  of  the  aristocrats  at  the  East 
end,  are  nothing,  and  less  than  nothing.  They  are  weak 
sops  to  our  tame  '  lion  couchant,'  offered  in  doubtful  fear  and 
trembling.  For  our  lion  is  wakefiil  and  somewhat  restive, — 
there  is  no  knowing  what  may  happen  if  the  original  ferocity 
of  the  beast  is  roused.  A  few  of  our  over-rich  men  might 
considerably  ease  the  load  of  cruel  poverty  in  many  quarters 
of  the  metropolis  if  they  united  themselves  with  a  noble  un- 
selfishness in  the  strong  and  determined  effort  to  do  so,  and 
eschewed  red-tapeism  and  wordy  argument.  But  they  remain 
inert ; — spending  solely  on  their  own  personal  gratification 
and  amusement, — and  meanwhile  there  are  dark  signs  of 
trouble  brooding.  The  poor,  as  the  lean  and  anxious  curate 
said,  will  not  always  be  patient ! 

I  must  not  here  forget  to  mention  that  according  to  the 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


243 


suggestion  Rimanez  had  made  to  me  on  the  second  day  of 
our  acquaintance,  he  had  entered  a  horse  for  me  to  run  the 
Derby.  It  was  a  superb  creature  named  '  Phosphor, '  and 
where  it  came  from,  Lucio  would  not  say.  It  was  shown  to  a 
few  experts  who  not  only  seemed  astonished  but  considerably 
taken  aback  by  the  perfection  of  the  animal  at  all  points, — 
and  Rimanez,  whose  gift  to  me  it  was,  warned  me  to  be  care- 
ful as  to  the  character  of  the  persons  admitted  into  the  stables 
to  view  it,  and  to  allow  no  one  but  the  horse's  own  two  at- 
tendants to  linger  near  it  long  on  any  pretext.  Speculation 
was  very  rife  as  to  what  '  Phosphor's'  capabilities  really  were ; 
the  grooms  never  showed  him  off  to  advantage  during  exer- 
cise. I  was  amazed  when  Lucio  told  me  his  man  Amiel  would 
be  the  jockey. 

*'  Good  heavens  ! — not  possible  !"  I  exclaimed.  ''  Can  he 
ride?" 

*'  Like  the  very  devil !"  responded  my  friend  with  a  smile. 
*•  He  will  ride  '  Phosphor'  to  the  winning-post." 

I  was  very  doubtful  in  my  own  mind  of  this ;  a  horse  of 
the  Prime  Minister's  was  to  run,  and  all  the  betting  was  on 
that  side.  Few  had  seen  'Phosphor,'  and  those  few,  though 
keen  admirers  of  the  animal's  appearance,  had  little  oppor- 
tunity of  judging  its  actual  qualities,  thanks  to  the  careful 
management  of  its  two  attendants,  who  were  dark-faced, 
reticent-looking  men,  somewhat  after  Amiel' s  character  and 
complexion.  I  myself  was  quite  indifferent  as  to  the  result  of 
the  contest.  I  did  not  really  care  whether  '  Phosphor'  lost  or 
won  the  race.  I  could  afford  to  lose ;  and  it  would  be  little 
to  me  if  I  won,  save  a  momentary  passing  triumph.  There 
was  nothing  lasting,  intellectual  or  honourable  in  the  vic- 
tory,—there  is  nothing  lasting,  intellectual  or  honourable  in 
anything  connected  with  racing.  However,  because  it  was 
*  fashionable'  to  be  interested  in  this  particular  mode  of  wast- 
ing time  and  money,  I  followed  the  general  Mead,'  for  the 
sake  of  '  being  talked  about,'  and  nothing  more.  Meanwhile, 
Lucio,  saying  little  to  me  concerning  it,  was  busy  planning 


244  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

the  'betrothal-fete'  at  Willowsmere,  and  designing  all  sorts 
of  'surprise'  entertainments  for  the  guests.  Eight  hundred 
invitations  were  sent  out :  and  society  soon  began  to  chatter 
volubly  and  excitedly  on  the  probable  magnificence  of  the 
forthcoming  festival.  Eager  acceptances  poured  in;  only  a 
few  of  those  asked  were  hindered  from  attending  by  illness, 
family  deaths  or  previous  engagements,  and  among  these 
latter,  to  my  regret,  was  Mavis  Clare.  She  was  going  to  the 
sea-coast  to  stay  with  some  old  friends,  and  in  a  prettily- 
worded  letter  explained  this,  and  expressed  her  thanks  for  my 
invitation  though  she  found  herself  unable  to  accept  it !  How 
curious  it  was  that  when  I  read  her  little  note  of  refusal  I 
should  experience  such  a  keen  sense  of  disappointment !  She 
was  nothing  to  me, — nothing  but  a  '  literary'  woman  who,  by 
strange  chance,  happened  to  be  sweeter  than  most  women  lui- 
literary  ;  and  yet  I  felt  that  the  fete  at  Willowsmere  would  lose 
something  in  brightness  lacking  her  presence.  I  had  wanted 
to  introduce  her  to  Sibyl,  as  I  knew  I  should  thus  give  a 
special  pleasure  to  my  betrothed, — however,  it  was  not  to  be, 
and  I  was  conscious  of  an  inexplicable  personal  vexation.  In 
strict  accordance  with  the  promise  made,  I  let  Rimanez  have 
his  own  way  entirely  with  regard  to  all  the  arrangements  for 
what  was  to  be  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  everything  ever  designed 
for  the  distraction,  amusement  and  wonderment  of  listless  and 
fastidious  '  swagger'  people,  and  I  neither  interfered,  nor  asked 
any  questions,  content  to  rely  on  my  friend's  taste,  imagina- 
tion and  ingenuity.  I  only  understood  that  all  the  plans  were 
being  carried  out  by  foreign  artists  and  caterers, — and  that  no 
English  firms  would  be  employed.  I  did  venture  once  to  in- 
quire the  reason  of  this,  and  got  one  of  Lucio's  own  enig- 
matical replies :  — 

"Nothing  English  is  good  enough  for  the  English,"  he 
said.  **  Things  have  to  be  imported  from  France  to  please 
the  people  whom  the  French  themselves  angrily  designate  as 
'  perfide  Albion.'  You  must  not  have  a  '  Bill  of  Fare'  ;  you 
must  have  a  '  Menu'  ;  and  all  your  dishes  must  bear  French 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  245 

titles,  otherwise  they  will  not  be  in  good  form.  You  must 
have  French  '  comediennes'  and  '  danseuses'  to  please  the 
British  taste,  and  your  silken  draperies  must  be  woven  on 
French  looms.  Lately  too,  it  has  been  deemed  necessary  to 
import  Parisian  morality  as  well  as  Parisian  fashions.  Jt  does 
not  suit  stalwart  Great  Britain  at  all,  you  know, — stalwart 
Great  Britain,  aping  the  manners  of  Paris,  looks  like  a  jolly 
open-faced,  sturdy-limbed  Giant,  with  a  doll's  bonnet  stuck 
on  his  leonine  head.  But  the  doll's  bonnet  is  just  now  /a 
viode.  Some  day  1  believe  the  Giant  will  discover  it  looks 
ridiculous,  and  cast  it  off  with  a  burst  of  genuine  laughter  at 
his  own  temporary  folly.  And  without  it,  he  will  resume  his 
original  dignity ; — the  dignity  that  best  becomes  a  privileged 
conqueror  who  has  the  sea  for  his  standing  army." 

"  Evidently  you  like  England  1"  I  said  smiling. 

He  laughed. 

"  Not  in  the  very  least !  I  do  not  like  England  any  more 
than  any  other  country  on  the  globe.  I  do  not  like  the  globe 
itself;  and  England  comes  in  for  a  share  of  my  aversion  as 
one  of  the  spots  on  the  trumpery  ball.  If  I  could  have  my 
way,  I  should  like  to  throne  myself  on  a  convenient  star  for 
the  purpose  and  kick  out  at  Earth  as  she  whirls  by  in  space, 
hoping  by  that  act  of  just  violence  to  do  away  with  her  for 
ever."  ^ 

*'But  why?"  I  asked,  amused.  ''Why  do  you  hate  the 
Earth  ?  What  has  the  poor  little  planet  done  to  merit  your 
abhorrence  ?" 

He  looked  at  me  very  strangely. 

''  Shall  I  tell  you  ?     You  will  never  believe  me  !" 

"  No  matter  for  that !"  I  answered  smiling.      ''  Say  on  !" 

"What  has  the  poor  little  planet  done?"  he  repeated 
slowly.  "  The  poor  little  planet  has  done — nothing.  But  it 
is  what  the  gods  have  done  with  this  same  poor  little  planet, 
that  awakens  my  anger  and  scorn.  They  have  made  it  a 
living  sphere  of  wonders, — endowed  it  with  beauty  borrowed 
from  the  fairest  corners  of  highest  Heaven, — decked  it  with 

21* 


246  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

flowers  and  foliage, — taught  it  music, — the  music  of  birds 
and  torrents  and  rolling  waves  and  falling  rains,  —rocked  it 
gently  in  clear  ether  among  such  light  as  blinds  the  eyes  of 
mortals,— guided  it  out  of  chaos,  through  clouds  of  thunder 
and  barbed  shafts  of  lightning,  to  circle  peacefully  in  its  ap- 
pointed orbit,  lit  on  the  one  hand  by  the  vivid  splendours  of 
the  sun,  and  on  the  other  by  the  sleepy  radiance  of  the  moon  ; 
— and  more  than  all  this,  they  have  invested  it  with  a  Divine 
Soul  in  man.  Oh,  you  may  disbelieve  as  you  will, — but  not- 
withstanding the  pigmy  peeps  earth  takes  at  the  vast  and 
eternal  ocean  of  Science,  the  Soul  is  here,  and  all  the  im- 
mortal forces  with  it  and  around  it !  Nay,  the  gods — I  speak 
in  the  plural,  after  the  fashion  of  the  ancient  Greeks — for  to 
my  thinking  there  are  many  gods  emanating  from  the  Supreme 
Deity, — the  gods,  I  say,  have  so  insisted  on  this  fact,  that 
One  of  them  has  walked  the  earth  in  human  guise,  solely 
for  the  sake  of  emphasizing  the  truth  of  Immortality  to  these 
frail  creatures  of  seemingly  perishable  clay  !  For  this  I  hate 
the  planet ; — were  there  not,  and  are  there  not  other  and  far 
grander  worlds,  that  a  God  should  have  chosen  to  dwell  on 
this  one  !" 

For  a  moment  I  was  silent,  out  of  sheer  surprise. 

"  You  amaze  me  !"  I  said  at  last.  "  You  allude  to  Christ, 
I  suppose ;  but  everybody  is  convinced  by  this  time  that  He 
was  a  mere  man  like  the  rest  of  us ;  there  was  nothing  divine 
about  Him.  What  a  contradiction  you  are!  Why,  I  re- 
member you  indignantly  denied  the  accusation  of  being  a 
Christian." 

*' Of  course, — and  I  deny  it  still,"  he  answered  quickly. 
"  I  have  not  a  fat  living  in  the  church  that  I  should  tell  a  lie 
on  such  a  subject.  I  am  not  a  Christian  ;  nor  is  anyone  living 
a  Christian.  To  quote  a  very  old  saying,  '  There  never  was  a 
Christian  save  One,  and  He  was  crucified.'  But  though  I 
am  not  a  Christian,  I  never  said  I  doubted  the  existence  ot 
Christ.  That  knowledge  was  forced  upon  me, — with  con- 
siderable pressure  too." 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  247 

"By  a  reliable  authority?"  I  inquired  with  a  slight 
sneer. 

He  made  no  immediate  reply.  His  flashing  eyes  looked, 
as  it  were,  through  me  and  beyond  me  at  something  far  away. 
The  curious  pallor  that  at  times  gave  his  face  the  set  look  of 
an  impenetrable  mask,  came  upon  him  then,  and  he  smiled, 
— an  awful  smile.  So  might  a  man  smile  out  of  deadly 
bravado,  when  told  of  some  dim  and  dreadful  torture  await- 
ing him. 

''You  touch  me  on  a  sore  point,"  he  said  at  last,  slowly 
and  in  a  harsh  tone.  *'My  convictions  respecting  certain 
religious  phases  of  man's  development  and  progress  are 
founded  on  the  arduous  study  of  some  very  unpleasant  truths 
to  which  humanity  generally  shuts  its  eyes,  burying  its  head 
in  the  desert-sands  of  its  own  delusions.  These  truths  I  will 
not  enter  upon  now.  Some  other  time  I  will  initiate  you  into 
a  few  of  my  mysteries." 

The  tortured  smile  passed  from  his  face,  leaving  it  intellect- 
ually composed  and  calm  as  usual, — and  I  hastily  changed 
the  subject,  for  I  had  made  up  my  mind  by  this  time  that  my 
brilliant  friend  had,  like  many  exceptionally  gifted  persons,  a 
*  craze'  on  one  topic,  and  that  topic  a  particularly  difficult 
one  to  discuss,  as  it  touched  on  the  superhuman,  and  therefore 
(to  my  thinking)  the  impossible.  My  own  temperament, 
which  had,  in  the  days  of  my  poverty,  fluctuated  between 
spiritual  striving  and  material  gain,  had,  with  my  sudden 
access  to  fortune,  rapidly  hardened  into  the  character  of  a 
man  of  the  world  worldly,  for  whom  all  speculations  as  to  the 
unseen  forces  working  in  and  around  us,  were  the  merest  folly, 
not  worth  a  moment's  waste  of  thought.  I  should  have  laughed 
to  scorn  anyone  who  had  then  presumed  to  talk  to  me  about 
the  law  of  Eternal  Justice,  which  with  individuals  as  well  as 
nations,  works,  not  for  a  passing  'phase,'  but  for  all  time 
towards  good,  and  not  evil, — for  no  matter  how  much  a  man 
may  strive  to  blind  himself  to  the  fact,  he  has  a  portion  of 
the  Divine  with  him,   which  if  he  wilfully  corrupts  by  his 


248  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

own  wickedness,  he  must  be  forced  to  cleanse  again,  and  yet 
again,  in  the  fierce  flames  of  such  remorse  and  such  despair 
as  are  rightly  termed  the  quenchless  fires  of  Hell ! 


XXII 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  twenty-first  of  May,  I  went  down, 
accompanied  by  Lucio,  to  Willowsmere,  to  be  in  readiness 
for  the  reception  of  the  social  swarm  who  were  to  flock 
thither  the  next  day.  Amiel  went  with  us, — but  I  left  my 
own  man,  Morris,  behind,  to  take  charge  of  my  rooms  in  the 
'  Grand'  and  to  forward  late  telegrams  and  special  messages. 
TJie  weather  was  calm,  warm  and  bright, — and  a  young  moon 
showed  her  thin  crescent  in  the  sky  as  we  got  out  at  the 
country  station  and  stepped  into  the  open  carriage  awaiting 
us.  The  station-oflicials  greeted  us  with  servile  humility, 
eyeing  Lucio  especially  with  an  almost  gaping  air  of  wonder- 
ment ;  the  fact  of  his  lavish  expenditure  in  arranging  with  the 
railway  company  a  service  of  special  trains  for  the  use  of  the 
morrow's  guests,  had  no  doubt  excited  them  to  a  speechless 
extent  of  admiration  as  well  as  astonishment.  AVhen  we 
approached  Willowsmere,  and  entered  the  beautiful  drive, 
bordered  with  oak  and  beech,  which  led  up  to  the  house,  I 
uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight  at  the  festal  decorations 
dis})layed,  for  the  whole  avenue  was  spanned  with  arches  of 
flags  and  flowers ;  garlands  of  blossoms  being  even  swung 
from  tree  to  tree,  and  interlacing  many  of  the  lower  branches. 
The  gabled  porch  at  the  entrance  of  the  house  was  draped 
with  crimson  silk  and  festooned  with  white  roses, — and  as  we 
alighted,  the  door  was  flung  open  by  a  smart  page  in  brilliant 
scarlet  and  gold. 

*' I  think,"  said  Lucio  to  me  as  we  entered,  "you  will 
find  everything  as  complete  as  this  world's  resources  will 
allow.     The    retinue  of  servants   here  are  what  is  vulgarly 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  249 

called  '  on  the  job'  ;  their  payment  is  agreed  upon,  and 
they  know  their  duties  thoroughly, — they  will  give  you  no 
trouble." 

I  could  scarcely  find  words  to  express  my  unbounded  satis- 
faction, or  to  thank  him  for  the  admirable  taste  with  which 
the  beautiful  house  had  been  adorned.  I  wandered  about  in 
an  ecstasy  of  admiration,  triumphing  in  such  a  visible  and  gor- 
geous display  of  what  great  wealth  could  really  do.  The  ball- 
room had  been  transformed  into  an  elegant  bijou  theatre,  the 
stage  being  concealed  by  a  curtain  of  thick  gold-coloured  silk 
on  which  the  oft  quoted  lines  of  Shakespeare  were  embroidered 
in  raised  letters, — 

"  All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players." 

Turning  out  of  this  into  the  drawing-room,  I  found  it  deco- 
rated entirely  round  with  banks  of  roses,  red  and  white,  the 
flowers  forming  a  huge  pyramid  at  one  end  of  the  apartment, 
behind  which,  as  Lucio  informed  me,  unseen  musicians  would 
discourse  sweet  harmony. 

"  I  have  arranged  for  a  few  *  tableaux  vivants'  in  the  theatre 
to  fill  up  a  gap  of  time,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Fashionable 
folks  now-a-days  get  so  soon  tired  of  one  amusement  that  it 
is  necessary  to  provide  several  in  order  to  distract  the  brains 
that  cannot  think,  or  discover  any  means  of  entertainment  in 
themselves.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  people  cannot  even  converse 
long  together,  because  they  have  nothing  to  say.  Oh,  don't 
bother  to  go  out  in  the  grounds  on  a  tour  of  inspection  just 
now, — leave  a  few  surprises  for  yourself  as  well  as  for  your 
company  tomorrow.     Come  and  have  dinner  !" 

He  put  his  arm  through  mine  and  we  entered  the  dining- 
room.  Here  the  table  was  laid  out  with  costly  fruit,  flowers 
and  delicacies  of  every  description, — four  men-servants  in 
scarlet  and  gold  stood  silently  in  waiting,  withAmiel,  in  black 
as  usual,  behind  his  master's  chair.  We  enjoyed  a  sumptuous 
repast,  served  to  perfection,  and  when  it  was  finished,  we 
strolled  out  in  the  grounds  to  smoke  and  talk. 


250  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"You  seem  to  do  everything  by  magic,  Liicio,"  I  said, 
looking  at  him  wonderingly.  '*  All  these  lavish  decorations, — 
these  servants — " 

"  Money,  my  dear  fellow, — nothing  but  money,"  he  inter- 
rupted with  a  laugh.  "  Money,  the  devil's  pass-key !  you 
can  have  the  retinue  of  a  king  without  any  of  a  king's  respon- 
sibilities, if  you  only  choose  to  pay  for  it.  It  is  merely  a 
question  of  cost." 

*'  And  taste  !"  I  reminded  him. 

*'  True, — and  taste.  Some  rich  men  there  are  who  have  less 
taste  than  a  costermonger.  I  know  one  who  has  the  egregious 
vulgarity  to  call  the  attention  of  his  guests  to  the  value  of  his 
goods  and  chattels.  He  pointed  out  for  my  admiration  one 
day,  an  antique  and  hideous  china  plate,  the  only  one  of  that 
kind  in  the  world,  and  told  me  it  was  worth  a  thousand  guineas. 
*  Break  it,'  I  said  coolly,  *  You  will  then  have  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  you  have  destroyed  a  thousand  guineas'  worth  of 
undesirable  ugliness.'  You  should  have  seen  his  face  !  He 
showed  me  no  more  airios  P ' 

I  laughed,  and  we  walked  slowly  up  and  down  for  a  few 
minutes  in  silence.  Presently  I  became  aware  that  my  com- 
panion was  looking  at  me  intently,  and  I  turned  my  head 
quickly  to  meet  his  eyes.      He  smiled. 

"  I  was  just  then  thinking,"  he  said,  "  what  you  would  have 
done  with  your  life  if  you  had  not  inherited  this  fortune,  and 
if, — if /had  not  come  your  way?" 

"I  should  have  starved,  no  doubt,"  I  responded — "  Died 
like  a  rat  in  a  hole, — of  want  and  wretchedness." 

"  I  rather  doubt  that,  "  he  said  meditatively.  "It  is  just 
possible  you  might  have  become  a  great  writer." 

"Why  do  you  say  that  now?"  I  asked. 

"Because  I  have  been  reading  your  book.  There  are  fine 
ideas  in  it, — ideas  that  might,  had  they  been  the  result  of  sin- 
cere conviction,  have  reached  the  public  in  time,  because  they 
were  sane  and  healthy.  The  public  will  never  put  up  for  long 
with  corrupt  '  fads'  and  artificial  *  crazes.'     Now,  you  write  of 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  251 

God, — yet  according  to  your  own  statement,  you  did  not  be- 
lieve in  God  even  when  you  wrote  the  words  that  imply  His 
existence, — and  that  Avas  long  before  I  met  you.  Therefore 
the  book  was  tiot  the  result  of  sincere  conviction, — and  that's 
the  key-note  of  your  failure  to  reach  the  large  audience  you 
desired.  Each  reader  can  see  you  do  not  believe  what  you 
write, — the  trumpet  of  lasting  fame  never  sounds  triumph  for 
an  author  of  that  calibre. ' ' 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  it  for  Heaven's  sake!"  I  said 
irritably.  "I  know  my  work  lacks  something, — and  that 
something  may  be  what  you  say,  or  it  may  not, — I  do  not 
want  to  think  about  it.  Let  it  perish,  as  it  assuredly  will ; 
perhaps  in  the  future  I  may  do  something  better." 

He  was  silent,  —and  finishing  his  cigar,  threw  the  end  away 
in  the  grass  where  it  burned  like  a  dull  red  coal. 

"  I  must  turn  in,"  he  then  observed.  ''  I  have  a  few  more 
directions  to  give  to  the  servants  for  tomorrow.  I  shall  go  to 
my  room  as  soon  as  I  have  done, — so  I'll  say  good-night." 

''  But  surely  you  are  taking  too  much  personal  trouble,"  I 
said.      ''  Can't  I  help  in  any  way?" 

'*No,  you  can't,"  he  answered  smiling.  *'When  I  under- 
take to  do  anything  I  like  to  do  it  in  my  own  fashion,  or  not 
at  all.     Sleep  well,  and  rise  early." 

He  nodded,  and  sauntered  slowly  away  over  the  dewy  grass. 
I  watched  his  dark  tall  figure  receding  till  he  had  entered  the 
house  ;  then,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  I  wandered  on  alone  through 
the  grounds,  noting  here  and  there  flowery  arbours  and  dainty 
silk  pavilions  erected  in  picturesque  nooks  and  corners  for  the 
morrow.  I  looked  up  at  the  sky;  it  was  clear  and  bright, — 
there  would  be  no  rain.  Presently  I  opened  the  wicket-gate 
that  led  into  the  outer  by-road,  and  walking  on  slowly,  almost 
unconsciously,  I  found  myself  in  a  few  minutes  opposite  '  Lily 
Cottage.'  Approaching  the  gate  I  looked  in, — the  pretty  old 
house  was  dark,  silent  and  deserted.  I  knew  Mavis  Clare  was 
away, — and  it  was  not  strange  that  the  aspect  of  her  home- 
nest  emphasized  the  fact  of  her  absence.     A  cluster  of  climb- 


252  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

ing  roses  hanging  from  the  wall,  looked  as  if  they  were  listen- 
ing for  the  first  sound  of  her  returning  footsteps ;  across  the 
green  breadth  of  the  lawn  where  I  had  seen  her  playing  with 
her  dogs,  a  tall  sheaf  of  St  John's  lilies  stood  up  white  against 
the  sky,  their  pure  hearts  opened  to  the  star-light  and  the 
breeze.  The  scent  of  honey-suckle  and  sweet-brier  filled  the 
air  with  delicate  suggestions, — and  as  I  leaned  over  the  low 
fence,  gazing  vaguely  at  the  long  shadows  of  the  trees  on  the 
grass,  a  nightingale  began  to  sing.  The  sweet  yet  dolorous 
warble  of  the  '  little  brown  lover  of  the  moon,'  palpitated  on 
the  silence  in  silver-toned  drops  of  melody ;  and  I  listened, 
till  my  eyes  smarted  with  a  sudden  moisture  as  of  tears. 
Strangely  enough,  I  never  thought  of  my  betrothed  bride 
Sibyl  then,  as  surely,  by  all  the  precedents  of  passion,  I  should 
have  done  at  such  a  moment  of  dreamful  ecstasy.  It  was 
another  woman's  face  that  floated  before  my  memory  ; — a  face 
not  beautiful, — but  merely  sweet,  and  made  radiant  by  the 
light  of  two  tender,  wistful,  wonderfully  innocent  eyes, — a  face 
like  that  of  some  new  '  Daphne'  with  the  mystic  laurel  spring- 
ing from  her  brows.  The  nightingale  sang  on  and  on, — the 
tall  lilies  swayed  in  the  faint  wind  as  though  nodding  wise 
approval  of  the  bird's  wild  music, — and,  gathering  one  brier- 
rose  from  the  hedge,  I  turned  away  with  a  curious  heaviness 
at  my  heart, — a  trouble  I  could  not  analyze  or  account  for.  I 
explained  my  feeling  partly  to  myself  as  one  of  regret  that  I 
had  ever  taken  up  my  pen  to  assault,  with  sneer  and  flippant 
jest,  the  gentle  and  brilliantly  endowed  owner  of  this  little 
home  where  peace  and  pure  content  dwelt  happily  in  student- 
like seclusion  ; — but  this  was  not  all.  There  was  something 
else  in  my  mind, — something  inexplicable  and  sad, — which 
then  I  had  no  skill  to  define.  I  know  now  what  it  was, — but 
the  knowledge  comes  too  late. 

Returning  to  my  own  domains,  I  saw  through  the  trees  a 
vivid  red  light  in  one  of  the  upper  windows  of  Willowsmere. 
It  twinkled  like  a  lurid  star,  and  I  guided  my  steps  by  its 
brilliancy  as  I  made  my  way  across  the  winding  garden-paths 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  253 

and  terraces  back  to  the  house.  Entering  the  hall,  the  page 
in  scarlet  and  gold  met  me,  and  with  a  respectful  obeisance, 
escorted  me  to  my  room  where  Amiel  was  in  waiting. 

"  Has  the  prince  retired  ?"  I  asked  him. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  He  has  a  red  lamp  in  his  window,  has  he  not  ?" 

Amiel  looked  deferentially  meditative.  Yet  I  fancied  I  saw 
him  smile. 

"I  think yes, — I  believe  he  has,  sir." 

I  asked  no  more  questions,  but  allowed  him  to  perform  his 
duties  as  valet  in  silence. 

"  Good-night,  sir  !"  he  said  at  last,  his  ferret  eyes  fastened 
upon  me  with  an  expressionless  look. 

*' Good-night  !"  I  responded  indifferently. 

He  left  the  room  with  his  usual  cat-like  stealthy  tread,  and 
when  he  had  gone,  I, — moved  by  a  sudden  fresh  impulse  of 
hatred  for  him, — sprang  to  the  door  and  locked  it.  Then  I 
listened,  with  an  odd  nervous  breathlessness.  There  was  not 
a  sound.  For  fully  quarter  of  an  hour  I  remained  with  my 
attention  more  or  less  strained,  expectant  of  I  knew  not  what ; 
but  the  quiet  of  the  house  was  absolutely  undisturbed.  With 
a  sigh  of  relief  I  flung  myself  on  the  luxurious  bed, — a  couch 
fit  for  a  king,  draped  with  the  richest  satin  elaborately  em- 
broidered,— and  falling  soundly  asleep  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
poor  again.  Poor, — but  unspeakably  happy, — and  hard  at 
work  in  the  old  lodging,  writing  down  thoughts  which  I 
knew  by  some  divine  intuition  and  beyond  all  doubt,  would 
bring  me  the  whole  world's  honour.  Again  I  heard  the 
sounds  of  the  violin  played  by  my  unseen  neighbour  next 
door,  and  this  time  they  were  triumphal  chords  and  cadences 
of  joy,  without  one  throb  of  sorrow.  And  while  I  wrote  on 
in  an  ecstasy  of  inspiration,  oblivious  of  poverty  and  pain,  I 
heard,  echoing  through  my  visions,  the  round  warble  of  the 
nightingale,  and  saw,  in  the  far  distance,  an  angel  floating 
towards  me  on  pinions  of  light,  with  the  face  of  Mavis  Clare  ! 

22 


254  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


XXIII 

The  morning  broke  clear,  with  all  the  pure  tints  of  a  fine 
opal  radiating  in  the  cloudless  sky.  Never  had  I  beheld  such 
a  fair  scene  as  the  woods  and  gardens  of  Willowsmere,  when 
I  looked  upon  them  that  day  illumined  by  the  unclouded  sun- 
light of  a  spring  half-melting  into  summer.  My  heart  swelled 
with  pride  as  I  surveyed  the  beautiful  domain  I  now  owned, — 
and  thought  how  happy  a  home  it  would  make  when  Sibyl, 
matchless  in  her  Joveliness,  shared  with  me  its  charm  and 
luxury. 

"Yes,"  I  said  half-aloud.  ''Say  what  philosophers  will, 
the  possession  of  money  does  insure  satisfaction  and  power. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  fame,  but  what  is  fame  worth, 
if,  like  Carlyle,  one  is  too  poor  to  enjoy  it !  Besides,  litera- 
ture no  longer  holds  its  former  high  prestige, — there  are  too 
many  in  the  field, — too  many  newspaper-scribblers  all  be- 
lieving they  are  geniuses, — too  many  ill-educated  lady-para- 
graphists  and  '  new'  women  who  think  they  are  as  gifted  as 
Georges  Sand  or  Mavis  Clare.  With  Sibyl  and  Willowsmere, 
I  ought  to  be  able  to  resign  the  idea  of  fame — literary  fame — 
with  a  good  grace." 

I  knew  I  reasoned  falsely  with  myself, — I  knew  that  my 
hankering  for  a  place  among  the  truly  great  of  the  world  was 
as  strong  as  ever, — I  knew  I  craved  for  the  intellectual  dis- 
tinction, force,  and  pride  which  make  the  Thinker  a  terror 
and  a  power  in  the  land,  and  so  severs  a  great  poet  or  great 
romancist  from  the  commoner  throng  that  even  kings  are  glad 
to  do  him  or  her  honour, — but  I  would  not  allow  my  thoughts 
to  dwell  on  this  rapidly  vanishing  point  of  unattainable  desire. 
I  settled  my  mind  to  enjoy  the  luscious  flavour  of  the  im- 
mediate present,  as  a  bee  settles  in  the  cup  of  honey-flowers, 
— and,  leaving  my  bedroom,  I  went  downstairs  to  breakfast 
with  Lucio  in  the  best  and  gayest  of  humours. 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  255 

*'Not  a  cloud  on  the  day!"  he  said,  meeting  me  with  a 
smile,  as  I  entered  the  bright  morning-room,  whose  windows 
opened  on  the  lawn.  "The  fete  will  be  a  brilliant  success, 
Geoffrey." 

''  Thanks  to  you  !"  I  answered.  ''  Personally  I  am  quite  in 
the  dark  as  to  your  plans, — but  I  believe  you  can  do  nothing 
that  is  not  well  done." 

''You  honour  me!"  he  said  with  a  light  laugh.  "You 
credit  me  then  with  better  qualities  than  the  Creator  !  For 
what  He  does,  in  the  opinion  of  the  present  generation,  is 
exceedingly  ill  done  !  Men  have  taken  to  grumbling  at  Him 
instead  of  praising  Him, — and  few  have  any  patience  with  or 
liking  for  His  laws." 

I  laughed.  "Well,  you  must  admit  those  laws  are  very 
arbitrary  !" 

"  They  are.     I  entirely  acknowledge  the  fact." 

We  sat  down  to  table,  and  were  waited  upon  by  admirably- 
trained  servants  who  apparently  had  no  idea  of  anything  else 
but  attendance  on  our  needs.  There  was  no  trace  of  bustle 
or  excitement  in  the  household,— no  sign  whatever  to  denote 
that  a  great  entertainment  w^as  about  to  take  place  that  day. 
It  was  not  until  the  close  of  our  meal  that  I  asked  Lucio 
what  time  the  musicians  would  arrive.  He  glanced  at  his 
watch. 

"About  noon  I  should  say,"  he  replied  ;  "  perhaps  before. 
But  whatever  their  hour,  they  will  all  be  in  their  places  at  the 
proper  moment,  depend  upon  it.  The  people  I  employ — 
both  musicians  and  'artistes' — know  their  business  thoroughly 
and  are  aware  that  I  stand  no  nonsense."  A  rather  sinister 
smile  played  round  his  mouth  as  he  regarded  me.  "None 
of  your  guests  can  arrive  here  till  one  o'clock,  as  that  is  about 
the  time  the  special  train  will  bring  the  first  batch  of  them 
from  London, — and  the  first  '  dejeuner'  will  be  served  in  the 
gardens  at  two.  If  you  want  to  amuse  yourself  there's  a  May- 
pole being  put  up  on  the  large  lawn, — you'd  better  go  and 
look  at  it." 


256  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

''  A  May. pole  !"  I  exclaimed.    "  Now  that's  a  good  idea  !" 

"  It  used  to  be  a  good  idea,"  he  answered.  "  When  Eng- 
lish lads  and  lasses  had  youth,  innocence,  health  and  fun  in 
their  composition,  a  dance  round  the  May-pole  hand  in  hand, 
did  them  good  and  did  nobody  harm.  But  now  there  are  no 
lads  and  lasses, — enervated  old  men  and  women  in  their  teens 
walk  the  world  wearily,  speculating  on  the  uses  of  life, — 
probing  vice,  and  sneering  down  sentiment ;  and  such  inno- 
cent diversions  as  the  May-pole  no  longer  appeal  to  our  jaded 
youth.  So  we  have  to  get  '  professionals'  to  execute  the  May- 
revels, — of  course  the  dancing  is  better  done  by  properly 
trained  legs ;  but  it  means  nothing  and  is  nothing,  except  a 
pretty  spectacle." 

"And  are  the  dancers  here?"  I  asked,  rising  and  going 
towards  the  window  in  some  curiosity. 

"No,  not  yet.  But  the  May-pole  is;  fully  decorated.  It 
faces  the  woods  at  the  back  of  the  house, — go  and  see  if  you 
like  it." 

I  followed  his  suggestion,  and  going  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated, I  soon  perceived  the  gaily-decked  object  which  used 
to  be  the  welcome  signal  of  many  a  village  holiday  in  Shake- 
speare's old-world  England  The  pole  was  already  set  up  and 
fixed  in  a  deep  socket  in  the  ground,  and  a  dozen  or  more 
men  were  at  work,  unbinding  its  numerous  trails  of  blossom 
and  garlands  of  green,  tied  with  long  streamers  of  vari -col- 
oured ribbon.  It  had  a  picturesque  effect  in  the  centre  of 
the  wide  lawn  bordered  with  grand  old  trees, — and  approach- 
ing one  of  the  men,  I  said  something  to  him  by  way  of 
approval  and  admiration.  He  glanced  at  me  furtively  and 
unsmilingly,  but  said  nothing, — and  I  concluded  from  his 
dark  and  foreign  cast  of  features,  that  he  did  not  understand 
the  English  language.  I  noted  with  some  wonder  and  slight 
vexation  that  all  the  workmen  were  of  this  same  alien  and 
sinister  type  of  countenance,  very  much  after  the  unattractive 
models  of  Amiel  and  the  two  grooms  who  had  my  racer 
*  Phosphor'   in  charge.     But  I  remembered  what  Lucio  had 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  257 

told  me, — namely,  that  all  the  designs  for  the  fete  were  car- 
ried out  by  foreign  experts  and  artists, — and  after  a  little 
puzzled  consideration,  I  let  the  matter  pass  from  my  mind. 

The  morning  hours  flew  swiftly  by,  and  I  had  little  time  to 
examine  all  the  festal  preparations  with  which  the  gardens 
abounded, — so  that  I  was  almost  as  ignorant  of  what  was  in 
store  for  the  amusement  of  my  guests  as  the  guests  themselves. 
I  had  the  curiosity  to  wait  about  and  watch  for  the  coming  of 
the  musicians  and  dancers,  but  I  might  as  well  have  spared 
myself  this  waste  of  time  and  trouble,  for  I  never  saw  them 
arrive  at  all.  At  one  o'clock,  both  Lucio  and  I  were  ready 
to  receive  our  company, — and  at  about  twenty  minutes  past 
the  hour,  the  first  instalment  of  '  swagger  society'  was  emptied 
into  the  grounds.  Sibyl  and  her  father  were  among  these, — 
and  I  eagerly  advanced  to  meet  and  greet  my  bride-elect  as 
she  alighted  from  the  carriage  that  had  brought  her  from  the 
station.  She  looked  supremely  beautiful  that  day,  and  was, 
as  she  deserved  to  be,  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes.  I  kissed  her 
little  gloved  hand  with  a  deeper  reverence  than  I  would  have 
kissed  the  hand  of  a  queen. 

''Welcome  back  to  your  old  home,  my  Sibyl !"  I  said  to 
her  in  a  low  voice,  tenderly,  at  which  words  she  paused,  look- 
ing up  at  the  red  gables  of  the  house  with  such  wistful  affection 
as  filled  her  eyes  with  something  like  tears.  She  left  her  hand 
in  mine,  and  allowed  me  to  lead  her  towards  the  silken-draped, 
flower-decked  porch,  where  Lucio  waited,  smiling, — and  as 
she  advanced,  two  tiny  pages  in  pure  white  and  silver  glided 
suddenly  out  of  some  unseen  hiding-place,  and  emptied  two 
baskets  of  pink  and  white  rose-leaves  at  her  feet,  thus  strew- 
ing a  fragrant  pathway  for  her  into  the  house.  They  vanished 
as  completely  and  swiftly  as  they  had  appeared, — some  of  the 
guests  uttered  murmurs  of  admiration,  while  Sibyl  gazed  about 
her,  blushing  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

''  How  charming  of  you,  Geoffrey  ! ' '  she  murmured.  ''  What 
a  poet  you  are  to  devise  so  pretty  a  greeting  !" 

*'I  wish  I  deserved  your  praise!"  I  answered,  smiling  at 
r  22* 


258  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

her;   "but  the  poet  in  question  is  Prince  Rimanez, — he  is  the 
master  and  ruler  of  to-day's  revels." 

Again  the  rich  colour  flushed  her  cheeks,  and  she  gave 
Lucio  her  hand.  He  bowed  over  it  in  courtly  fashion, — but 
did  not  kiss  it  as  he  had  kissed  the  hand  of  Mavis  Clare.  We 
passed  into  the  house,  through  the  drawing-room,  and  out 
again  into  the  garden.  Lord  Elton  being  loud  in  his  praise  of 
the  artistic  manner  in  which  his  former  dwelling  had  been 
improved  and  embellished.  Soon  the  lawn  was  sprinkled 
with  gaily  attired  groups  of  people, — and  my  duties  as  host 
began  in  hard  earnest.  I  had  to  be  greeted,  complimented, 
flattered,  and  congratulated  on  my  approaching  marriage  by 
scores  of  hypocrites  who  nearly  shook  my  hand  off  in  their 
enthusiasm  for  my  wealth.  Had  I  become  suddenly  poor,  I 
thought  grimly,  not  one  of  them  would  have  lent  me  a 
sovereign  !  The  guests  kept  on  arriving  in  shoals,  and  when 
there  were  about  three  or  four  hundred  assembled,  a  burst  of 
exquisite  music  sounded,  and  a  procession  of  pages  in  scarlet 
and  gold,  marching  two  by  two  appeared,  carrying  trays  full 
of  the  rarest  flowers  tied  up  in  bouquets,  which  they  ofl"ered 
to  all  the  ladies  present.  Exclamations  of  delight  arose  on 
every  side, — exclamations  which  were  for  the  most  part  high- 
pitched  and  noisy, — for  the  '  swagger  set'  have  long  ceased  to 
cultivate  softness  of  voice  or  refinement  of  accent, — and  once 
or  twice  the  detestable  slang  word  '  ripping'  escaped  from  the 
lips  of  a  few  dashing  dames,  reputed  to  be  '  leaders'  of  style. 
Repose  of  manner,  dignity  and  elegance  of  deportment,  how- 
ever, are  no  longer  to  be  discovered  among  the  present 
'  racing'  duchesses  and  gambling  countesses  of  the  bluest  blue 
blood  of  England,  so  one  does  not  expect  these  graces  of 
distinction  from  them.  The  louder  they  can  talk,  and  the 
more  slang  they  can  adopt  from  the  language  of  their  grooms 
and  stable-boys,  the  more  are  they  judged  to  be  '  in  the  swim' 
and  'up  to  date.'  I  speak,  of  course,  of  the  modern  scions 
of  aristocracy.  There  are  a  few  truly  '  great  ladies'  left,  whose 
maxim  is  still  ^noblesse  oblige^' — but  they  are  quite   in  the 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


259 


minority  and  by  the  younger  generation  are  voted  either  '  old 
cats'  or  'bores.'  Many  of  the  'cultured'  mob  that  now 
swarmed  over  my  grounds,  had  come  out  of  the  sheerest 
vulgar  curiosity  to  see  what  '  the  man  with  five  millions'  could 
do  in  the  way  of  entertaining, — others  were  anxious  to  get 
news,  if  possible,  of  the  chances  of  '  Phosphor'  winning  the 
Derby,  concerning  which  I  was  discreetly  silent.  But  the 
bulk  of  the  crowd  wandered  aimlessly  about,  staring  imper- 
tinently or  enviously  at  each  other,  and  scarcely  looking  at 
the  natural  loveliness  of  the  gardens  or  the  woodland  scenery 
around  them.  The  brainlessness  of  modern  society  is  never 
so  flagrantly  manifested  as  at  a  garden-party,  where  the  rest- 
less trousered  and  petticoated  bipeds  moved  vaguely  to  and 
fro,  scarcely  stopping  to  talk  civilly  or  intelligently  to  one 
another  for  five  minutes,  most  of  them  hovering  dubiously  and 
awkwardly  between  the  refreshment-pavilion  and  the  band- 
stand. In  my  domain  they  were  deprived  of  this  latter 
harbour  of  refuge,  for  no  musicians  could  be  seen,  though 
music  was  heard, — beautiful  wild  music  which  came  first  from 
one  part  of  the  grounds  and  then  from  another,  and  to  which 
few  listened  with  any  attention.  All  were,  however,  happily 
unanimous  in  their  enthusiastic  appreciation  of  the  excellence 
of  the  food  provided  for  them  in  the  luxurious  luncheon  tents, 
of  which  there  were  twenty  in  number.  Men  ate  as  if  they 
had  never  eaten  in  their  lives  before,  and  drank  the  choice 
and  exquisite  wines  with  equal  greed  and  gusto.  One  never 
entirely  realizes  the  extent  to  which  human  gourmandism  can 
go  till  one  knows  a  few  peers,  bishops  and  cabinet-ministers, 
and  watches  those  dignitaries  feed  ad  libitum.  Soon  the 
company  was  so  complete  that  there  was  no  longer  any  need 
forme  to  perform  the  fatiguing  duty  of  'receiving,'  and  I 
therefore  took  Sibyl  in  to  luncheon,  determining  to  devote 
myself  to  her  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  She  was  in  one  of  her 
brightest  and  most  captivating  moods, — her  laughter  rang  out 
as  sweetly  joyous  as  that  of  some  happy  child, — s.he  was  even 
kind  to  Diana  Chesney,  who  was  also  one  of  my  guests,  and 


26o  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

who  was  plainly  enjoying  herself  with  all  the  verve  peculiar 
to  pretty  American  women  who  consider  flirtation  as  much  of 
a  game  as  tennis.  The  scene  was  now  one  of  great  brilliancy, 
the  light  costumes  of  the  women  contrasting  well  with  the 
scarlet  and  gold  liveries  of  the  seemingly  innumerable  servants 
that  were  now  everywhere  in  active  attendance.  And,  con- 
stantly through  the  fluttering  festive  crowd,  from  tent  to  tent, 
from  table  to  table  and  group  to  group,  Lucio  moved,  his  tall 
stately  figure  and  handsome  face  always  conspicuous  wherever 
he  stood ;  his  rich  voice  thrilling  the  air  whenever  he  spoke. 
His  influence  was  irresistible,  and  gradually  dominated  the 
whole  assemblage, — he  roused  the  dull,  inspired  the  witty, 
encouraged  the  timid,  and  brought  all  the  conflicting  elements 
of  rival  position,  character  and  opinion  into  one  uniform 
whole,  which  was  unconsciously  led  by  his  will  as  easily  as  a 
multitude  is  led  by  a  convincing  orator.  I  did  not  know  it, 
then,  but  I  know  now,  that,  metaphorically  speaking,  he  had 
his  foot  on  the  neck  of  that  '  society'  mob,  as  though  it  were 
one  prostrate  man  ; — that  the  sycophants,  liars  and  hypocrites, 
whose  utmost  idea  of  good  is  wealth  and  luxurious  living, 
bent  to  his  secret  power  as  reeds  bend  to  the  wind, — and  that 
he  did  with  them  all  whatsoever  he  chose,  as  he  does  to  this 
very  day  !  God  ! — if  the  grinning,  guzzling  sensual  fools  had 
only  known  what  horrors  were  about  them  at  the  feast ! — what 
ghastly  ministers  to  pleasurable  appetite  waited  obediently 
upon  them  ! — what  pallid  terrors  lurked  behind  the  gorgeous 
show  of  vanity  and  pride  !  But  the  veil  was  mercifully  down, 
— and  only  to  me  has  it  since  been  lifted  ! 

Luncheon  over,  the  singing  of  mirthful  voices,  tuned  to  a 
kind  of  village  roundelay,  attracted  the  company,  now  fed  to 
repletion,  towards  the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  cries 
of  delight  were  raised  as  the  May -pole  came  into  view,  I  myself 
joining  in  the  universal  applause,  for  I  had  not  expected  to 
see  anything  half  so  picturesque  and  pretty.  The  pole  was 
surrounded  by  a  double  ring  of  small  children, — children  so 
beautiful  in  face  and  dainty  in  form,  that  they  might  very  well 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  261 

have  been  taken  for  little  fairies  from  some  enchanted  wood- 
land. The  boys  were  clad  as  tiny  foresters  in  doublets  of 
green,  with  pink  caps  on  their  curly  heads, — the  girls  were  in 
white,  with  their  hair  flowing  loosely  over  their  shoulders, 
and  wreaths  of  May-blossom  crowning  their  brows.  As  soon 
as  the  guests  appeared  on  the  scene,  these  exquisite  little 
creatures  commenced  their  dance,  each  one  taking  a  trail  of 
blossom  or  a  ribbon  pendant  from  the  May-pole,  and  weaving 
it  with  the  others  into  no  end  of  beautiful  and  fantastic  de- 
signs. I  looked  on,  as  amazed  and  fascinated  as  anyone 
present,  at  the  wonderful  lightness  and  ease  with  which  these 
children  tripped  and  ran ; — their  tiny  twinkling  feet  seemed 
scarcely  to  touch  the  turf, — their  faces  were  so  lovely,  their 
eyes  so  bright,  that  it  was  a  positive  enchantment  to  watch 
them.  Each  figure  they  executed  was  more  intricate  and 
effective  than  the  last,  and  the  plaudits  of  the  spectators  grew 
more  and  more  enthusiastic,  till  presently  came  the  finale,  in 
which  all  the  little  green  foresters  climbed  up  the  pole  and 
clung  there,  pelting  the  white-robed  maidens  below  with  cow- 
slip-balls, knots  of  roses,  bunches  of  violets,  posies  of  butter- 
cups, daisies  and  clover,  which  the  girl-children  in  their  turn 
laughingly  threw  among  the  admiring  guests.  The  air  grew 
thick  with  flowers,  and  heavy  with  perfume,  and  resounded 
with  song  and  laughter ;  and  Sibyl  standing  at  my  side 
clapped  her  hands  in  an  ecstasy. 

''Oh,  it  is  lovely — lovely!"  she  cried.  ''Is  this  the 
prince's  idea?"  Then  as  I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  she 
added,  "  Where,  I  wonder,  did  he  find  such  exquisitely  pretty 
little  children  !" 

As  she  spoke,  Lucio  himself  advanced  a  step  or  two  in  front 
of  the  other  spectators  and  made  a  slight  peremptory  sign. 
The  fairy-like  foresters  and  maidens,  with  extraordinary 
activity,  all  sprang  away  from  the  May-pole,  pulling  down 
the  garlands  with  them,  and  winding  the  flowers  and  ribbons 
about  themselves  so  that  they  looked  as  if  they  were  all  tied 
together  in  one  inextricable  knot ; — this  done,  they  started  off 


262  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

at  a  rapid  run,  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  rolling  ball  of 
blossom,  merry  pipe-music  accompanying  their  footsteps,  till 
they  had  entirely  disappeared  among  the  trees. 

'*Oh,  do  call  them  back  again!"  entreated  Sibyl,  laying 
her  hand  coaxingly  on  Lucio's  arm, — **I  should  so  like  to 
speak  to  two  or  three  of  the  prettiest ! ' ' 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  an  enigmatical  smile. 

"You  would  do  them  too  much  honour.  Lady  Sibyl,"  he 
replied.  "  They  are  not  accustomed  to  such  condescension 
from  great  ladies  and  would  not  appreciate  it.  They  are  paid 
professionals,  and,  like  many  of  their  class,  only  become  inso- 
lent when  praised." 

At  that  moment  Diana  Chesney  came  running  across  the 
lawn,  breathless. 

''I  can't  see  them  anywhere!"  she  declared  pantingly. 
*'  The  dear  little  darlings  !  I  ran  after  them  as  fast  as  I  could  ; 
I  wanted  to  kiss  one  of  those  perfectly  scrumptious  boys,  but 
they're  gone  !— not  a  trace  of  them  left !  It's  just  as  if  they 
had  sunk  into  the  ground  ! ' ' 

Again  Lucio  smiled. 

*'They  have  their  orders,"  he  said  curtly,  ''and  they 
know  their  place." 

Just  then,  the  sun  was  obscured  by  a  passing  black  cloud, 
and  a  peal  of  thunder  rumbled  over-head.  Looks  were  turned 
to  the  sky,  but  it  was  quite  bright  and  placid  save  for  that  one 
floating  shadow  of  storm. 

''  Only  summer  thunder,"  said  one  of  the  guests.  *'  There 
will  be  no  rain." 

And  the  crowd  that  had  been  pressed  together  to  watch  the 
*  May-pole  dance'  began  to  break  up  in  groups,  and  speculate 
as  to  what  diversion  might  next  be  provided  for  them.  I, 
watching  my  opportunity,  drew  Sibyl  away. 

*'  Come  down  by  the  river,"  I  whispered, — "  I  must  have 
you  to  myself  for  a  few  minutes."  She  yielded  to  my  sug- 
gestion, and  we  walked  away  from  the  mob  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, and  entered  a  grove  of  trees  leading  to  the  banks  of 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  263 

that  part  of  the  Avon  which  flowed  through  my  grounds. 
Here  we  found  ourselves  quite  alone,  and  putting  my  arm 
round  my  betrothed,  I  kissed  her  tenderly. 

*'Tell  me,"  1  said  with  a  half- smile,  *'do  you  know  how 
to  love  yet?" 

She  looked  up  with  a  passionate  darkness  in  her  eyes  that 
startled  me. 

"  Yes, — I  know  !"  was  her  unexpected  answer. 

"You  do!"  and  I  stopped  to  gaze  intently  into  her  fair 
face.      ''And  how  did  you  learn?" 

She  flushed  red,  then  grew  pale,  and  clung  to  me  with  a 
nervous,  almost  feverish  force. 

*'Very  strangely!"  she  replied;  *'and — quite  suddenly  I 
The  lesson  was  easy,  I  found; — too  easy!  Geoffrey," — she 
paused,  and  fixed  her  eyes  full  on  mine, — ''  I  will  tell  you  how 
I  learnt  it,  .  .  .  but  not  now,  .  .  .  some  other  day."  Here 
she  broke  off,  and  began  to  laugh  rather  forcedly.  ''I  will 
tell  you  .  .  .  when  we  are  married."  She  glanced  anxiously 
about  her, — then,  with  a  sudden  abandonment  of  her  usual 
reserve  and  pride,  threw  herself  into  my  arms  and  kissed  my 
lips  with  such  ardour  as  made  my  senses  reel. 

''Sibyl — Sibyl!"  I  murmured,  holding  her  close  to  my 
heart.  "  Oh,  my  darling, — you  love  me  ! — at  last  you  love 
me!" 

"  Hush  ! — hush  !"  she  said  breathlessly.  "You  must  forget 
that  kiss, — it  was  too  bold  of  me, — it  was  wrong, — I  did  not 
mean  it,  ...  I  ...  I  was  thinking  of  something  elbC. 
Geoffrey  !"  and  her  small  hand  clenched  on  mine  with  a  sort 
of  eager  fierceness, — "  I  wish  I  had  never  learned  to  love ;  I 
was  happier  before  I  knew  !" 

A  frown  knitted  her  brows. 

"Now,"  she  went  on  in  the  same  breathless  hurried  way, 
"  I  wan^  love  !  I  am  starving,  thirsting  for  it !  I  want  to  be 
drowned  in  it,  lost  m  it,  killed  by  it  I  Nothing  else  will  con- 
tent me  ! ' ' 

I  folded  her  still  closer  in  my  arms. 


264  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

''Did  I  not  say  you  would  change,  Sibyl?"  I  whispered. 
''Your  coldness  and  insensibility  to  love  was  unnatural  and 
could  not  last, — my  darling,  I  always  knew  that !" 

"You  always  knew!"  she  echoed  a  little  disdainfully. 
"  Ah,  but  you  do  not  know  even  now  what  has  chanced  to  me. 
Nor  shall  I  tell  you — yet.  Oh,  Geoffrey!"  Here  she  drew 
herself  out  of  my  embrace,  and  stooping,  gathered  some  blue- 
bells in  the  grass.  "  See  these  little  flowers  growing  so  purely 
and  peacefully  in  the  shade  by  the  Avon  ! — they  remind  me  of 
what  I  was,  here  in  this  very  place,  long  ago.  I  was  quite  as 
happy,  and  I  think  as  innocent  as  these  blossoms  ;  I  had  no 
thought  of  evil  in  my  nature, — and  the  only  love  I  dreamed  of 
was  the  love  of  the  fairy  prince  for  the  fairy  princess, — as 
harmless  an  idea  as  the  loves  of  the  flowers  themselves.  Yes  ! 
— I  was  then  all  I  should  like  to  be  now, — all  that  I  am  not ! ' ' 

"You  are  everything  that  is  beautiful  and  sweet,"  I  told 
her,  admiringly,  as  I  watched  the  play  of  retrospective  and 
tender  expression  on  her  perfect  face. 

"  So  you  judge, — being  a  man  who  is  perfectly  satisfied  with 
his  own  choice  of  a  wife  !"  she  said,  with  a  flash  of  her  old 
cynicism.  "  But  I  know  myself  better  than  you  know  me. 
You  call  me  beautiful  and  sweet, — but  you  cannot  call  me 
good.  I  am  not  good.  Why,  the  very  love  that  now  con- 
sumes me  is " 

"What?"  I  asked  her  quickly,  seizing  her  hands  with  the 
blue-bells  in  them,  and  gazing  searchingly  into  her  eyes, — "  I 
know  before  you  speak,  that  it  is  the  passion  and  tenderness 
of  a  true  woman  !" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she  smiled,  with  a 
bewitching  langour. 

"If  you  know,  then  I  need  not  tell  you,"  she  said;  "so 
do  not  let  us  stay  here  any  longer  talking  nonsense.  '  Society' 
will  shake  its  head  over  us  and  accuse  us  of  'bad  form,'  and 
some  lady-paragraphist  will  write  to  the  papers,  and  say,  *  Mr 
Tempest's  conduct  as  a  host  left  much  to  be  desired,  as  he  and 
nis  bnde-elect  were  'spooning'  all  the  day.'  " 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  265 

"There  are  no  lady-paragraphists  here,"  I  said  laughing, 
and  encircling  her  dainty  waist  with  one  arm  as  I  walked. 

''  Oh,  are  there  not  though  !"  she  exclaimed,  laughing  also. 
**  Why,  you  don't  suppose  you  can  give  any  sort  of  big  enter- 
tainment without  them,  do  you?  They  permeate  society.  Old 
Lady  Maravale,  for  example,  who  is  rather  reduced  in  circum- 
stances, writes  a  guinea's  worth  of  scandal  a  week  for  one  of 
the  papers.  And  she  is  here, — I  saw  her  simply  gorging  her- 
self with  chicken  salad  and  truffles  an  hour  ago  !"  Here 
pausing,  and  resting  against  my  arm,  she  peered  through  the 
trees.  'There  are  the  chimneys  of  '  Lily  Cottage,'  where  the 
famous  Mavis  Clare  lives,"  she  said. 

**  Yes,  I  know,"  I  replied  readily.  "  Rimanez  and  I  have 
visited  her.  She  is  away  just  now,  or  she  would  have  been 
here  to-day." 

*'  Do  you  like  her  ?"  Sibyl  queried. 

•'  Very  much.     She  is  charming." 

''And  .   .   .  the  prince  .   .   .  does  he  like  her  ?" 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  I  answered  with  a  smile,  "  I  think 
he  likes  her  more  than  he  does  most  women  !  He  showed  the 
most  extraordinary  deference  towards  her,  and  seemed  almost 
abashed  in  her  presence.  Are  you  cold,  Sibyl?"  I  added 
hastily,  for  she  shivered  suddenly  and  her  face  grew  pale. 
"You  had  better  come  away  from  the  river, — it  is  damp  under 
these  trees." 

"  Yes, — let  us  go  back  to  the  gardens  and  the  sunshine,"  she 
answered  dreamily.  "So  your  eccentric  friend— the  woman- 
hater — finds  something  to  admire  in  Mavis  Clare.  She  must 
be  a  very  happy  creature  I  think, — perfectly  free,  famous,  and 
believing  in  all  good  things  of  life  and  humanity,  if  one  may 
judge  from  her  books." 

"  Well,  taken  altogether,  life  isn't  so  very  bad  !"  I  observed 
playfully. 

She  made  no  reply,  and  we  returned  to  the  lawns  where 
afternoon  tea  was  now  being  served  to  the  guests  who  were 
seated  in  brilliant  scattered  groups  under  the  trees  or  within 

M  23 


266  THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

the  silken  pavilions,  while  the  sweetest  music,  —  and  the 
strangest,  if  people  only  had  ears  to  hear  it, — both  vocal  and 
instrumental,  was  being  performed  by  those  invisible  players 
and  singers  whose  secret  whereabouts  was  unknown  to  all,  save 
Lucio. 


XXIV 


Just  as  the  sun  began  to  sink,  several  little  pages  came  out 
of  the  house,  and  with  low  salutations,  distributed  among  the 
guests,   daintily  embos-ed    and    painted    programmes  of  the 

*  Tableaux  Vivants,'  prepared  for  their  diversion  in  the  extem- 
porized bijou  theatre.  Numbers  of  people  rose  at  once  from 
their  chairs  on  the  lawn,  eager  for  this  new  spec  tacle,  and 
began  to  scramble  along  and  hustle  one  another  in  that 
effective  style  of '  high  breeding'  so  frequently  exhibited  at  Her 
Majesty's  Drawing-Rooms.  I,  with  Sibyl,  hastily  preceded 
the  impatient,  pushing  crowd,  for  I  wished  to  find  a  good 
seat  for  my  beautiful  betrothed  before  the  room  became  full 
to  overflowing.  The  reproved,  however,  to  be  plenty  of  ac- 
commodation for  everybody, — what  space  there  was  seemed 
capable  of  limitless  expansion,  and  all  the  spectators  were 
comfortably  placed  without  difficulty.  Soon  we  were  all 
studying  our  programmes  with  considerable  interest,  for  the 
titles  of  the  '  Tableaux'  were  somewhat  original  and  mystifying. 
They  were  eight  in  number,  and  were  respectively  headed, 

*  Society,'  'Bravery:  Ancient  and  Modern,'  'A  Lost  Angel,' 
'The  Autocrat,'  *  A  Corner  of  Hell,'  '  Seeds  of  Corruption,' 
'  His  Latest  Purchase,'  and  '  Faith  and  Materialism.*  It  was 
in  the  theatre  that  everyone  became  at  last  conscious  of  the 
weirdly  beautiful  character  of  the  music  that  had  been  surging 
round  them  all  day.  Seated  under  one  roof  in  more  or  less 
enforced  silence  and  attention,  the  vague  and  frivolous  '  so- 
ciety' throng  grew  hushed  and  passive, — the  '  society  smirk' 
passed  off  certain  faces  that  were  as  trained  to  grin  as  their 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  267 

tongues  were  trained  to  lie, — the  dreadful  giggle  of  the 
unwedded  man-hunter  was  no  longer  heard,  and  soon  the 
most  exaggerated  fashion-plate  of  a  woman  forgot  to  rustle 
her  gown.  The  passionate  vibrations  of  a  violoncello  su- 
perbly played  to  a  double  harp  accompaniment  throbbed 
on  the  stillness  with  a  beseeching  depth  of  sound, — and 
people  listened,  I  saw,  almost  breathlessly,  entranced,  as 
it  were,  against  their  wills,  and  staring  as  though  they  were 
hypnotized,  in  front  of  them  at  the  gold  curtain  with  its 
familiar  motto — 

"  All  the  world's  a  stage 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players." 

Before  we  had  time  to  applaud  the  violoncello  solo,  however, 
the  music  changed,  and  the  mirthful  voices  of  violins  and 
flutes  rang  out  in  a  waltz  of  the  giddiest  and  sweetest  tune. 
At  the  same  instant  a  silvery  bell  tinkled,  and  the  curtain 
parted  noiselessly  in  twain,  disclosing  the  first  tableau — 
'Society.'  An  exquisite  female  figure,  arrayed  in  evening- 
dress  of  the  richest  and  most  extravagant  design,  stood  before 
us,  her  hair  crowned  with  diamonds,  and  her  bosom  blazing 
with  the  same  lustrous  gems.  Her  head  was  slightly  raised, 
— her  lips  parted  in  a  languid  smile, — in  one  hand  she  held 
up-lifted  a  glass  of  foaming  champagne, — her  gold-slippered 
foot  trod  on  an  hour-glass.  Behind  her,  catching  convulsively 
at  the  folds  of  her  train,  crouched  another  woman,  in  rags, 
pinched  and  wretched,  with  starvation  depicted  in  her  face, — 
a  dead  child  lay  near.  And,  overshadowing  this  group,  were 
two  Supernatural  shapes, — one  in  scarlet,  the  other  in  black, 
— vast  and  almost  beyond  the  stature  of  humanity, — the  scarlet 
figure  represented  Anarchy,  and  its  blood-red  fingers  were  ad- 
vanced to  clutch  the  diamond  crown  from  '  Society's'  brow, 
— the  sable-robed  form  was  Death,  and  even  as  we  looked,  it 
slowly  raised  its  steely  dart  in  act  to  strike.  The  effect  was 
weird  and  wonderful,— and  the  grim  lesson  the  picture  con- 
veyed was  startling  enough  to  make  a  very  visible  impression. 


268  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

No  one  spoke, — no  one  applauded, — but  people  moved  rest- 
lessly and  fidgeted  on  their  seats, — and  there  was  an  audible 
sigh  of  relief  as  the  curtain  closed.  Opening  again,  it  dis- 
played the  second  tableau — 'Bravery:  Ancient  and  Modern.' 
This  was  in  two  scenes; — the  first  one  depicted  a  nobleman 
of  Elizabeth's  time,  with  rapier  drawn,  his  foot  on  the  pros- 
trate body  of  a  coarse  ruffian  who  had  evidently,  from  the 
grouping,  insulted  a  woman  whose  slight  figure  was  dis- 
cerned shrinking  timidly  away  from  the  contest.  This  was 
'Ancient  Bravery,' — and  it  changed  rapidly  to  'Modern,' 
showing  us  an  enervated,  narrow-shouldered,  pallid  dandy  in 
opera-coat  and  hat,  smoking  a  cigarette  and  languidly  appeal- 
ing to  a  bulky  policeman  to  protect  him  from  another  young 
noodle  of  his  own  class,  similarly  attired,  who  was  represented 
as  sneaking  round  a  corner  in  abject  terror.  We  all  recognised 
the  force  of  the  application,  and  were  in  a  much  better  humour 
with  this  pictured  satire  than  we  had  been  at  the  lesson  of 
'Society.'  Next  followed  'A  Lost  Angel,'  in  which  was 
shown  a  great  hall  in  the  palace  of  a  king,  where  there  were 
numbers  of  brilliantly  attired  people,  all  grouped  in  various 
attitudes,  and  evidently  completely  absorbed  in  their  own 
concerns,  so  much  so  as  to  be  entirely  unconscious  of  the 
fact  that  in  their  very  midst  stood  a  wondrous  Angel,  clad  in 
dazzling  white,  with  a  halo  round  her  fair  hair,  and  a  glory, 
as  of  the  sunset,  on  her  half  drooping  wings.  Her  eyes  were 
wistful, — her  face  was  pensive  and  expectant ;  she  seemed  to 
say,  "Will  the  world  ever  know  that  1  am  here  ?''  Somehow, 
— as  the  curtain  slowly  closed  again,  amid  loud  applause,  for 
the  picture  was  extraordinarily  beautiful, — I  thought  of  Mavis 
Clare,  and  sighed.     Sibyl  looked  up  at  me. 

"Why  do  you  sigh?"  she  said.  "  It  is  a  lovely  fancy, — 
but  the  symbol  is  wasted  in  the  present  audience, — no  one 
with  education  believes  in  Angels  now-a-days." 

"  True  !"  I  assented  ;  yet  there  was  a  heaviness  at  my  heart, 
for  her  words  reminded  me  of  what  I  would  rather  have  for- 
gotten,— namely,  her  own  admitted  lack  of  all  religious  faith. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  269 

'The  Autocrat,'  was  the  next  tableau,  and  represented  an 
Emperor  enthroned.  At  his  footstool  knelt  a  piteous  crowd 
of  the  starving  and  oppressed,  holding  up  their  lean  hands  to 
him,  clasped  in  anguished  petition,  but  he  looked  away  from 
them  as  though  he  saw  them  not.  His  head  was  turned  to 
listen  to  the  side-whisper  of  one  who  seemed,  by  the  courtly 
bend  and  flattering  smile,  to  be  his  adviser  and  confidant, — 
yet  that  very  confidant  held  secreted  behind  his  back  a  drawn 
dagger,  ready  to  strike  his  sovereign  to  the  heart.  ''  Russia  !" 
whispered  one  or  two  of  the  company,  as  the  scene  was  ob- 
scured;  but  the  scarcely-breathed  suggestion  quickly  passed 
into  a  murmur  of  amazement  and  awe  as  the  curtain  parted 
again  to  disclose  'A  Corner  of  Hell.'  This  tableau  was  in- 
deed original,  and  quite  unlike  what  might  have  been  imagined 
as  the  conventional  treatment  of  such  a  subject.  What  we 
saw  was  a  black  and  hollow  cavern,  glittering  alternately  with 
the  flashings  of  ice  and  fire, — huge  icicles  drooped  from  above, 
and  pale  flames  leaped  stealthily  into  view  from  below,  and 
within  the  dark  embrasure  the  shadowy  form  of  a  man  was 
seated,  counting  out  gold,  or  what  seemed  to  be  gold.  Yet  as 
coin  after  coin  slipped  through  his  ghostly  fingers,  each  one 
was  seen  to  change  to  fire, — and  the  lesson  thus  pictured  was 
easily  read.  The  lost  soul  had  made  its  own  torture,  and  was 
still  at  work  intensifying  and  increasing  its  own  fiery  agony. 
Much  as  this  scene  was  admired  for  its  Rembrandt  effect  of 
light  and  shade,  I  personally  was  glad  when  it  was  curtained 
from  view ;  there  was  something  in  the  dreadful  face  of  the 
doomed  sinner  that  reminded  me  forcibly  and  unpleasantly  of 
those  ghastly  Three  I  had  seen  in  my  horrid  vision  on  the 
night  of  Viscount  Lynton's  suicide.  '  Seeds  of  Corruption' 
was  the  next  picture,  and  showed  us  a  young  and  beautiful 
girl  in  her  early  teens,  lying  on  a  luxurious  couch  en  deshabille^ 
with  a  novel  in  her  hand,  of  which  the  title  was  plainly  seen 
by  all — a  novel  well  known  to  everyone  present,  and  the 
work  of  a  much-praised  living  author.  Round  her,  on  the 
floor,  and  cast  carelessly  on  a  chair  at  her  side,  were  other 

23* 


270  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

novels  of  the  same  'sexual'  type, — all  their  titles  turned 
towards  us,  and  the  names  of  their  authors  equally  made 
manifest. 

''  What  a  daring  idea  !"  said  a  lady  in  the  seat  immediately 
behind  me.      "  I  wonder  if  any  of  those  authors  are  present !" 

"  If  they  are,  they  won't  mind  !"  replied  the  man  next  to  her 
with  a  smothered  laugh.  "  Those  sort  of  writers  would  merely 
take  it  as  a  first-class  advertisement !" 

Sibyl  looked  at  the  tableau  with  a  pale  face  and  wistful  eyes. 

"  That  is  a  /me  picture  !"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"  Geoffrey,  it  is  painfully  true  !" 

I  made  no  answer, — I  thought  I  knew  to  what  she  alluded  ; 
but  alas  ! — I  did  not  know  how  deeply  the  '  seeds  of  corrup- 
tion' had  been  sown  in  her  own  nature,  or  what  a  harvest 
they  would  bring  forth.  The  curtain  closed, — to  open  again 
almost  immediately  on  'His  Latest  Purchase.'  Here  we 
were  shown  the  interior  of  a  luxurious  modern  drawing-room, 
where  about  eight  or  ten  men  were  assembled,  in  fashionable 
evening-dress.  They  had  evidently  just  risen  from  a  card- 
table,  and  one  of  them,  a  dissipated  looking  brute,  with  a 
wicked  smile  of  mingled  satire  and  triumph  on  his  face,  was 
pointing  to  his  'purchase,' — a  beautiful  woman.  She  was 
clad  in  glistening  white  like  a  bride, — but  she  was  bound,  as 
prisoners  are  bound,  to  an  upright  column,  on  w^hich  the 
grinning  head  of  a  marble  Silenus  leered  above  her.  Her 
hands  were  tied  tightly  together, — with  chains  of  diamonds ; 
her  waist  was  bound, — with  thick  ropes  of  pearls;  a  wide 
collar  of  rubies  encircled  her  throat ;  and  from  bosom  to  feet 
she  was  netted  about  and  tied, — with  strings  of  gold  and 
gems.  Her  head  was  flung  back  defiantly  with  an  assumption 
of  pride  and  scorn, — her  eyes  alone  expressed  shame,  self- 
contempt  and  despair  at  her  bondage.  The  man  who  owned 
this  white  slave  was  represented,  by  his  attitude,  as  cata- 
loguing and  appraising  her  '  points'  for  the  approval  and  ap- 
plause of  his  comrades,  whose  faces  variously  and  powerfully 
expressed  the  different  emotions  of  lust,  cruelty,  envy,  cal- 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  271 

lousness,  contempt,  and  selfishness,  more  admirably  than  the 
most  gifted  painter  could  imagine. 

**A  capital  type  of  most  fashionable  marriages!"  I  heard 
someone  say. 

"  Rather  I"  another  voice  replied.  ''  The  orthodox  '  happy 
couple'  to  the  life  !" 

I  glanced  at  Sibyl.  She  looked  pale, — but  smiled  as  she 
met  my  questioning  eyes.  A  sense  of  c(^nsolation  crept 
warmly  about  my  heart  as  I  remembered  that  now,  she  had, 
as  she  told  me,  'learnt  to  love,'  and  that  therefore  her  mar- 
riage with  me  was  no  longer  a  question  of  material  advantage 
alone.  She  was  not  my  'purchase,' — she  was  my  love,  my 
saint,  my  queen  ! — or  so  I  chose  to  think,  in  my  foolishness 
and  vanity. 

The  last  tableau  of  all  was  now  to  come, — '  Faith  and 
Materialism,' — and  it  proved  to  be  the  most  startling  of  the 
series.  The  auditorium  was  gradually  darkened,  and  the 
dividing  curtain  disclosed  a  ravishingly  beautiful  scene  by  the 
sea-shore.  A  full  moon  cast  its  tranquil  glory  over  the  smooth 
waters,  and,  rising  on  rainbow-wings  from  earth  towards  the 
skies,  one  of  the  loveliest  creatures  ever  dreamed  of  by  poet 
or  painter,  floated  angel-like  upward,  her  hands  holding  a 
cluster  of  lilies  clasped  to  her  breast, — her  lustrous  eyes  full  of 
divine  joy,  hope,  and  love.  Exquisite  music  was  heard, — soft 
voices  sang  in  the  distance  a  chorale  of  rejoicing ; — heaven 
and  earth,  sea  and  air, — all  seemed  to  support  the  aspiring 
Spirit  as  she  soared  higher  and  higher,  in  ever-deepening 
rapture,  when, — as  we  all  watched  that  aerial  flying  form  with 
a  sense  of  the  keenest  delight  and  satisfaction, — a  sudden  crash 
of  thunder  sounded, — the  scene  grew  dark, — and  there  was  a 
distant  roaring  of  angry  waters.  The  light  of  the  moon  was 
eclipsed, — the  music  ceased  ;  a  faint  lurid  glow  of  red  shone 
at  first  dimly,  then  more  vividly, — and  '  Materialism'  declared 
itself, — a  human  skeleton  ! — bleached  white  and  grinning 
ghastly  mirth  upon  us  all  !  While  we  yet  looked,  the  skeleton 
itself  dropped  to  pieces,  and  one  long  twining  worm  lifted  its 


272  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

slimy  length  from  the  wreck  of  bones,  another  working  its 
way  through  the  eye-holes  of  the  skull.  Murmurs  of  genuine 
horror  were  heard  in  the  auditorium, — people  on  all  sides  rose 
from  their  seats, — one  man  in  particular,  a  distinguished  pro- 
fessor of  science,  pushed  past  me  to  get  out,  muttering  crossly, 
"  This  may  be  very  amusing  to  some  of  you,  but  to  me,  it  is 
disgusting  ! ' ' 

"  Like  your  own  theories,  my  dear  Professor !"  said  a  rich 
laughing  voice,  as  Lucio  met  him  on  his  way,  and  the  bijou 
theatre  was  again  flooded  with   cheerful   light.      "They  are 

amusing  to  some,  and  disgusting  to  others  ! Pardon  me  ! 

I  speak  of  course  in  jest !  But  I  designed  that  tableau  specially 
in  your  honour  ! ' ' 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you?"  growled  the  Professor.  "  Well, 
I  didn't  appreciate  it." 

"Yet  you  should  have  done,  for  it  is  quite  scientifically 
correct,"  declared  Lucio  laughing  still.  "Faith,  with  the 
wings,  whom  you  saw  joyously  flying  towards  an  impossible 
heaven,  is  nof  scientifically  correct, — have  you  not  told  us  so  ? 
— but  the  skeleton  and  the  worms  were  quite  of  your  a//^  / 
No  materialist  can  deny  the  correctness  of  that  '  complexion 
to  which  we  all  must  come  at  last.'  Positively,  some  of  the 
ladies  look  quite  pale  !  How  droll  it  is,  that  while  everybody 
(to  be  fashionable,  and  in  favour  with  the  press)  must  accept 
Materialism  as  the  only  creed,  they  should  invariably  become 
affrighted,  or  let  us  say  offended,  at  the  natural  end  of  the 
body,  as  completed  by  material  agencies  !" 

"  Well,  it  was  not  a  pleasant  subject,  that  last  tableau,"  said 
Lord  Elton,  as  he  came  out  of  the  theatre  with  Diana  Chesney 
hanging  confidingly  on  his  arm.  "  You  cannot  say  it  was 
festal!" 

"  It  was, — for  the  worms  !"  replied  Lucio  gaily. — "  Come, 
Miss  Chesney,  and  you.  Tempest,  come  along  with  Lady  Sibyl, 
— let  us  go  out  in  the  grounds  again  and  see  my  will-o'-the- 
wisps  lighting  up." 

Fresh   curiosity  was   excited   by  this   remark;  the  people 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  273 

quickly  threw  off  the  gruesome  and  tragic  impression  made 
by  the  strange  '  tableaux'  just  witnessed,  and  poured  out  of 
the  house  into  the  gardens  chattering  and  laughing  more 
noisily  than  ever.  It  was  just  dusk,  and  as  we  reached  the 
open  lawn  we  saw  an  extraordinary  number  of  small  boys,  clad 
in  brown,  running  about  with  will-o'-the-wisp  lanterns.  Their 
movements  were  swift  and  perfectly  noiseless, — they  leaped, 
jumped  and  twirled  like  little  gnomes  over  flower-beds,  under 
shrubberies,  and  along  the  edges  of  paths  and  terraces,  many 
of  them  climbing  trees  with  the  rapidity  and  agility  of 
monkeys,  and  wherever  they  went  they  left  behind  them  a 
trail  of  brilliant  light.  Soon,  by  their  efforts,  all  the  grounds 
were  illuminated  with  a  magnificence  that  could  not  have  been 
equalled  even  by  the  historic  fetes  at  Versailles, — tall  oaks  and 
cedars  were  transformed  to  pyramids  of  fire-blossoms, — every 
branch  was  loaded  with  coloured  lamps  in  the  shape  of  stars, — 
rockets  hissed  up  into  the  clear  space  showering  down  bouquets, 
wreaths  and  ribbons  of  flame, — lines  of  red  and  azure  ran 
glowingly  along  the  grass-borders,  and,  amid  the  enthusiastic 
applause  of  the  assembled  spectators,  eight  huge  fire  fountains 
of  all  colours  sprang  up  in  various  corners  of  the  garden,  while 
an  enormous  golden  balloon,  dazzlingly  luminous,  ascended 
slowly  into  the  air  and  remained  poised  above  us,  sending  from 
its  glittering  car  hundreds  of  gem-like  birds  and  butterflies  on 
fiery  wings,  that  circled  round  and  round  for  a  moment  and 
then  vanished.  While  we  were  yet  loudly  clapping  the  splen- 
did effect  of  this  sky-spectacle,  a  troop  of  beautiful  girl-dancers 
in  white  came  running  across  the  grass,  waving  long  silvery 
wands  that  were  tipped  with  electric  stars,  and  to  the  sound  of 
strange  tinkling  music,  seemingly  played  in  the  distance  on 
glass  bells,  they  commenced  a  fantastic  dance  of  the  wildest 
yet  most  graceful  character.  Every  shade  of  opaline  colour 
fell  upon  their  swaying  figures  from  some  invisible  agency  as 
they  tripped  and  whirled, — and  each  time  they  waved  their 
wands,  ribbons  and  flags  of  fire  were  unrolled  and  tossed  high 
in  air,  where  they  gyrated  for  a  long  time  like  moving  hiero- 


274 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


glyphs.  The  scene  was  now  so  startling,  so  fairy  like  and 
wonderful,  that  we  were  well-nigh  struck  speechless  with 
astonishment ;  too  fascinated  and  absorbed  even  to  applaud, 
we  had  no  conception  how  time  went,  or  how  rapidly  the 
night  descended,  till  all  at  once,  without  the  least  warning,  an 
appalling  crash  of  thunder  burst  immediately  above  our  heads, 
and  a  jagged  fork  of  lightning  tore  the  hmiinous  fire-balloon 
to  shreds.  Two  or  three  women  began  to  scream, — whereupon 
Lucio  advanced  from  the  throng  of  spectators  and  stood  in 
full  view  of  all,  holding  up  his  hand. 

**  Stage  thunder,  I  assure  you  !"  he  said  playfully,  in  a  clear, 
somewhat  scornful  voice.  ''  It  comes  and  goes  at  my  bidding. 
Quite  a  part  of  the  game,  believe  me  ! — these  sort  of  things 
are  only  toys  for  children.  Again — again,  ye  petty  elements  !" 
he  cried,  laughing,  and  lifting  his  handsome  face  and  flashing 
eyes  to  the  dark  heavens, — ''  roar  your  best  and  loudest !  — 
roar,  I  say  ! ' ' 

Such  a  terrific  boom  and  clatter  answered  him  as  baffled 
all  description, — it  was  as  if  a  mountain  of  rock  had  fallen 
into  ruins, — but  having  been  assured  that  the  deafening  noise 
was  'stage  thunder'  merely,  the  spectators  were  no  longer 
alarmed,  and  many  of  them  expressed  their  opinion  that  it  was 
*  wonderfully  well  done.'  After  this,  there  gradually  appeared 
against  the  sky  a  broad  blaze  of  red  light  like  the  reflection  of 
some  great  prairie  fire, — it  streamed  apparently  upward  from 
the  ground,  bathing  us  all  where  we  stood,  in  its  blood-like 
glow.  The  white-robed  dancing  girls  waltzed  on  and  on,  their 
arms  entwined,  their  lovely  faces  irradiated  by  the  lurid  flame, 
while  above  them  now  flew  creatures  with  black  wings,  bats 
and  owls  and  great  night  moths  that  flapped  and  fluttered 
about  for  all  the  world  as  if  they  were  truly  alive  and  not  mere 
'stage  properties.'  Another  flash  of  lightning, — and  one 
more  booming  thud  of  thunder, — and  lo  ! — the  undisturbed 
and  fragrapt  night  was  about  us,  clear,  dewy  and  calm, — the 
young  moon  smiled  pensively  in  a  cloudless  heaven, — all  the 
dancing-girls  had  vanished, — the  crimson  glow  had  changed 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  275 

to  a  pure  silvery  radiance,  and  an  array  of  pretty  pages,  in 
eighteenth-century  costumes  of  pale  pink  and  blue,  stood  be- 
fore us  with  lighted  flaming  torches,  making  a  long  triumphal 
avenue  down  which  Lucio  invited  us  to  pass. 

''On,  on,  fair  ladies  and  gallant  gentlemen!"  he  cried. 
*' This  extemporized  path  of  light  leads, — not  to  Heaven — 
no  !  that  were  far  too  dull  an  ending  ! — but  to  supper  !  On  ! 
— follow  your  leader  !" 

Every  eye  was  turned  on  his  fine  figure  and  striking  coun- 
tenance, as  with  one  hand  he  beckoned  the  guests, — between 
the  double  line  of  lit  torches  he  stood,  a  picture  for  a  painter, 
with  those  dark  eyes  of  his  alit  with  such  strange  mirth  as 
could  not  be  defined,  and  the  sweet,  half  cruel,  wonderfully 
attractive  smile  playing  upon  his  lips ; — and  with  one  accord 
the  whole  company  trooped  pell-mell  after  him,  shouting  their 
applause  and  delight.  Who  could  resist  him  ! — not  one  in 
that  assemblage  at  least; — there  are  few  'saints'  in  society! 
As  I  went  with  the  rest,  I  felt  as  though  I  were  in  some 
gorgeous  dream, — my  senses  were  all  in  a  whirl, — I  was  giddy 
with  excitement  and  could  not  stop  to  think,  or  to  analyze  the 
emotions  by  which  I  was  governed.  Had  I  possessed  the 
force  or  the  will  to  pause  and  consider,  I  might  possibly  have 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was  something  altogether 
beyond  the  ordinary  power  of  man  displayed  in  the  successive 
wonders  of  this  brilliant  '  gala'  ;  but  I  was,  like  all  the  rest  of 
society,  bent  merely  on  the  pleasure  of  the  moment,  regardless 
of  how  it  was  procured,  what  it  cost  me,  or  how  it  affected 
others.  How  many  I  see  and  know  to-day  among  the  wor- 
shippers of  fashion  and  frivolity  who  are  acting  precisely  as  I 
acted  then !  Indifferent  to  the  welfare  of  everyone  save 
themselves,  grudging  every  penny  that  is  not  spent  on  their 
own  advantage  or  amusement,  and  too  callous  to  even  listen  to 
the  sorrows  or  difficulties  or  joys  of  others  when  these  do  not 
in  some  way,  near  or  remote,  touch  their  own  interests,  they 
waste  their  time  day  after  day  in  selfish  trifling,  wilfully  blind 
and  unconscious  to  the  fact  that  they  are  building  up  their  own 


2  76  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

fate  in  the  future, — that  future  which  will  prove  all  the  more  a 
terrible  Reality  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  our  presumption 
in  daring  to  doubt  its  truth. 

More  than  four  hundred  guests  sat  down  to  supper  in  the 
largest  pavilion, — a  supper  served  in  the  most  costly  manner, 
and  furnished  with  luxuries  that  represented  the  utmost  pitch 
of  extravagance.  I  ate  and  drank,  with  Sibyl  at  my  side, 
hardly  knowing  what  I  said  or  did  in  the  whirling  excitement 
of  the  hour.  The  opening  of  champagne  bottles,  the  clink  of 
glasses,  the  clatter  of  plates,  the  loud  hum  of  talk  interspersed 
with  monkey-like  squeals  or  goat-like  whinnies  of  laughter, 
over-ridden  at  intervals  by  the  blare  of  trumpet-music  and 
drums, — all  these  sounds  were  as  so  much  noise  of  rushing 
waters  in  my  ears,  and  I  often  found  myself  growing  ab- 
stracted, and  in  a  manner  confused  by  the  din.  I  did  not 
say  much  to  Sibyl, — one  cannot  very  well  whisper  sentimental 
nothings  in  the  ear  of  one's  betrothed  when  she  is  eating 
ortolans  and  truffles.  Presently,  amid  all  the  hubbub,  a  deep 
bell  struck  twelve  times,  and  Lucio  stood  up  at  the  end  of  one 
of  the  long  tables,  a  full  glass  of  foaming  champagne  in  his 
hand — 

*'  Ladies  and  gentlemen  !" 

There  was  a  sudden  silence. 

*' Ladies  and  gentlemen!"  he  repeated,  his  brilliant  eyes 
flashing  derisively,  I  thought,  over  the  whole  well-fed  com- 
pany;  *' midnight  has  struck  and  the  best  of  friends  must 
part !  But  before  we  do  so,  let  us  not  forget  that  we  have 
met  here  to  wish  all  happiness  to  our  host,  Mr  Geoffrey  Tem- 
pest, and  his  bride-elect,  the  Lady  Sibyl  Elton."  Here  there 
was  vociferous  applause.  *'  It  is  said,"  continued  Lucio,  "  by 
the  makers  of  dull  maxims,  that  '  Fortune  never  comes  with 
both  hands  full,' — but  in  this  case  the  adage  is  proved  false 
and  put  to  shame,  for  our  friend  has  not  only  secured  the 
pleasures  of  wealth,  but  the  treasures  of  love  and  beauty  com- 
bined. Limitless  cash  is  good,  but  limitless  love  is  better ; 
and  both  these  choice  gifts  have  been  bestowed  on  the  be- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  277 

trothed  pair  whom  to-day  we  honour.  I  will  ask  you  to  give 
them  a  hearty  round  of  cheering, — and  then  it  must  be  good- 
night indeed,  though  not  farewell,  for  with  the  toast  of  the 
bride  and  bridegroom-elect,  I  shall  also  drink  to  the  time, — 
not  far  distant  perhaps, — when  I  shall  see  some  of  you,  if  not 
all  of  you  again,  and  enjoy  even  more  of  your  charming  com- 
pany than  I  have  done  to-day  ! ' ' 

He  ceased  amid  a  perfect  hurricane  of  applause, — and  then 
everyone  rose  and  turned  towards  the  table  where  I  sat  with 
Sibyl,  and  naming  our  names  aloud,  drank  wine,  the  men 
joining  in  hearty  shouts  of  "  Hip,  hip,  hip  hurrah  !"  Yet, — 
as  I  bowed  repeatedly  in  response  to  the  storm  of  cheering, 
and  while  Sibyl  smiled  and  bent  her  graceful  head  to  right 
and  left,  my  heart  sank  suddenly  with  a  sense  of  fear.  Was  it 
my  fancy — or  did  I  hear  peals  of  wild  laughter  circling  round 
the  brilliant  pavilion  and  echoing  away,  far  away  into  dis- 
tance? I  listened,  glass  in  hand.  ''Hip,  hip,  hip  hurrah  !" 
shouted  my  guests  with  gusto.  "Ha — ha — !  ha — ha!" 
seemed  shrieked  and  yelled  in  my  ears  from  the  outer  air. 
Struggling  against  this  delusion,  I  got  up  and  returned  thanks 
for  myself  and  my  future  bride  in  a  few  brief  words  which 
were  received  with  fresh  salvos  of  applause, — and  then  we  all 
became  aware  that  Lucio  had  sprung  up  again  in  his  place 
and  was  standing  high  above  us  all  with  one  foot  on  the  table 
and  the  other  on  the  chair,  confronting  us  with  a  fresh  glass 
of  wine  in  his  hand,  filled  to  the  brim.  What  a  face  he  had 
at  that  moment ! — what  a  smile  ! 

''The  parting  cup,  my  friends  !"  he  exclaimed.  ''To  our 
next  merry  meeting  !" 

With  plaudits  and  laughter  the  guests  eagerly  and  noisily 
responded, — and  as  they  drank,  the  pavilion  was  flooded  by 
a  deep  crimson  illumination  as  of  fire  !  Every  face  looked 
blood-red, — every  jewel  on  every  woman  flashed  like  a  living 
flame  ! — for  one  brief  instant  only, — then  it  was  gone ;  and 
there  followed  a  general  stampede  of  the  company, — every- 
body hurrying  as  fast  as  they  could  into  the  carriages  that 

24 


278  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

waited  in  long  lines  to  take  them  to  the  station,  the  last  two 
'special'  trains  to  London  being  at  one  a.m.  and  one-thirty. 
I  bade  Sibyl  and  her  father  a  hurried  good-night.  Diana 
Chesney  went  in  the  same  carriage  with  them,  full  of  ecstatic 
thanks  and  praise  to  me  for  the  splendours  of  the  day,  which 
she  described  in  her  own  fashion  as  "  knowing  how  to  do  it." 
And  then  the  departing  crowd  of  vehicles  began  to  thunder 
down  the  avenue.  As  they  went,  an  arch  of  light  suddenly 
spanned  Willowsmere  Court  from  end  to  end  of  its  red  gables, 
blazing  with  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  in  the  middle  of 
which  appeared  letters  of  pale  blue  and  gold,  forming  what 
I  had  hitherto  considered  as  a  funereal  device — 

Sic  transit  gloria  mundi !     Vale  ! 

But,  after  all,  it  was  as  fairly  applicable  to  the  ephemeral 
splendours  of  a  fete  as  it  was  to  the  more  lasting  marble 
solemnity  of  a  sepulchre,  and  I  thought  little  or  nothing 
about  it.  So  perfect  were  all  the  arrangements,  and  so  ad- 
mirably were  the  servants  trained,  that  the  guests  were  not 
long  in  departing,  and  the  grounds  were  soon  not  only 
empty  but  dark.  Not  a  vestige  of  the  splendid  illumina- 
tions was  left  anywhere, — and  I  entered  the  house  fatigued 
and  with  a  dull  sense  of  bewilderment  and  fear  on  me  which 
I  could  not  explain.  I  found  Lucio  alone  in  the  smoking- 
room  at  the  further  end  of  the  oak-panelled  hall,  a  small 
cosily  curtained  apartment  with  a  deep  bay  window  which 
opened  directly  on  to  the  lawn.  He  was  standing  in  this 
embrasure  with  his  back  to  me,  but  he  turned  swiftly  round 
as  he  heard  my  steps  and  confronted  me  with  such  a  wild, 
white,  tortured  face,  that  I  recoiled  from  him,  startled. 

"Lucio,  you  are  ill!"  I  exclaimed;  ''you  have  done  too 
much  to-day." 

"  Perhaps  I  have  !"  he  answered  in  a  hoarse  unsteady  voice, 
and  I  saw  a  strong  shudder  convulse  him  as  he  spoke ;  then, 
gathering  himself  together  as  it  were  by  an  effort,  he  forced 
a  smile, — *' Don't  be  alarmed,  my  friend! — it  is  nothing, — 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  279 

nothing  but  the  twinge  of  an  old  deep-seated  malady, — a 
troublesome  disease  that  is  rare  among  men,  and  hopelessly- 
incurable." 

''What  is  it?"  I  asked  anxiously,  for  his  death  like  pallor 
alarmed  me.  He  looked  at  me  fixedly,  his  eyes  dilating  and 
darkening,  and  his  hand  fell  with  a  heavy  pressure  on  my 
shoulder. 

"A  very  strange  illness!"  he  said,  in  the  same  jarring 
accents.  "  Remorse  !  Have  you  never  heard  of  it,  Geoffrey  ? 
Neither  medicine  nor  surgery  are  of  any  avail, — it  is  '  the 
worm  that  dieth  not,  and  the  flame  that  cannot  be  quenched.' 
Tut ! — let  us  not  talk  of  it, — no  one  can  cure  me, — no  one 
will !     I  am  past  hope. ' ' 

''  But  remorse — if  you  have  it,  and  I  cannot  possibly 
imagine  why,  for  you  have  surely  nothing  to  regret — is  not  a 
physical  ailment !"  I  said  wonderingly. 

"And  physical  ailments  are  the  only  ones  worth  troubling 
about,  you  think?"  he  queried,  still  smiling  that  strained  and 
haggard  smile.  *'  The  body  is  our  chief  care, — we  cosset  it, 
and  make  much  of  it,  feed  it  and  pamper  it,  and  guard  it 
from  so  much  as  a  pin-prick  of  pain  if  we  can, — and  thus 
we  flatter  ourselves  that  all  is' well, — all  must  be  well!  Yet 
it  is  but  a  clay  chrysalis,  bound  to  split  and  crumble  with  the 
growth  of  the  moth-soul  within, — the  moth  that  flies  with 
blind  instinctiveness  straight  into  the  Unknown  and  is  daz- 
zled by  excess  of  light !  Look  out  here,"  he  went  on  with 
an  abrupt  and  softer  change  of  tone.  ''Look  out  at  the 
dreamful  shadowy  beauty  of  your  gardens  now  !  The  flowers 
are  asleep, — the  trees  are  surely  glad  to  be  disburdened  of 
all  the  gaudy  artificial  lamps  that  lately  hung  upon  their 
branches, — there  is  the  young  moon  pillowing  her  chin  on 
the  edge  of  a  little  cloud  and  sinking  to  sleep  in  the  west, — 
a  moment  ago  there  was  a  late  nightingale  awake  and  singing. 
You  can  feel  the  breath  of  the  roses  from  the  trellis  yonder ! 
All  this  is  Nature's  work, — and  how  much  fairer  and  sweeter 
it  is  now  than  when  the  lights  were  ablaze  and  the  blare  of 


28o  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

band-music  startled  the  small  birds  in  their  downy  nests  ! 
Yet  'society'  would  not  appreciate  this  cool  dusk,  this  happy 
solitude, — *  society'  prefers  a  false  glare  to  all  true  radiance. 
And  what  is  worse,  it  tries  to  make  true  things  take  a  second 
place  as  adjuncts  to  sham  ones, — and  there  comes  in  the  mis- 
chief." 

"It  is  just  like  you  to  run  down  }our  own  indefatigable 
labours  in  the  splendid  successes  of  the  day,"  I  said,  laugh- 
ing. ''  You  may  call  it  a  '  false  glare'  if  you  like,  but  it  has 
been  a  most  magnificent  spectacle, — and  certainly  in  the  way 
of  entertainments  it  will  never  be  equalled  or  excelled." 

"It  will  make  you  more  talked  about  than  even  your 
'boomed'  book  could  do  !"  said  Lucio,  eyeing  me  narrowly. 

"  Not  the  least  doubt  of  that !"  I  replied.  "  Society  pre- 
fers food  and  amusement  to  any  literature, — even  the  greatest. 
By-the-by,  where  are  all  the  'artistes,' — the  musicians  and 
dancers?" 

"Gone!" 

"  Gone  ! "  I  echoed  amazedly.  "  Already  !  Good  heavens  ! 
have  they  had  supper?" 

"  They  have  had  everything  they  want,  even  to  their  pay," 
said  Lucio,  a  trifle  impatiently.  "Did  I  not  tell  you,  Geof- 
frey, that  when  I  undertake  to  do  anything  I  do  it  thoroughly 
or  not  at  all?" 

I  looked  at  him, — he  smiled,  but  his  eyes  were  sombre  and 
scornful. 

"All  right !"  I  responded  carelessly,  not  wishing  to  offend 
him.  "  Have  it  your  own  way  !  But,  upon  my  word,  to  me 
it  is  all  like  devil's  magic  !" 

"What  is?"  he  asked  imperturbably. 

"Everything! — the  dancers,  the  number  of  servants  and 
pages — why,  there  must  have  been  two  or  three  hundred  of 
them, — those  wonderful  'tableaux,'  the  illuminations,  the 
supper, — everything,  I  tell  you  ! — and  the  most  astonishing 
part  of  it  now  is  that  all  these  people  should  have  cleared  out 
so  soon  !" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  281 

''Well,  if  you  elect  to  call  money  devil's  magic,  you  are 
right,"  said  Lucio. 

*'But  surely  in  some  cases  not  even  money  could  procure 
such  perfection  of  detail,"  I  began. 

''Money  can  procure  anything!"  he  interrupted,  a  thrill 
of  passion  vibrating  in  his  rich  voice, — "  I  told  you  that  long 
ago.  It  is  a  hook  for  the  devil  himself.  Not  that  the  devil 
could  be  supposed  to  care  about  world's  cash  personally,  but 
he  generally  conceives  a  liking  for  the  company  of  the  man 
who  possesses  it ; — possibly  he  knows  what  that  man  will  do 
with  it.  I  speak  metaphorically  of  course, — but  no  meta- 
phor can  exaggerate  the  power  of  money.  Trust  no  man 
or  woman's  virtue  till  you  have  tried  to  purchase  it  with  a 
round  sum  in  hard  cash  !  Money,  my  excellent  Geoffrey, 
has  done  everything  for  you, — remember  that  ! — you  have 
done  nothing  for  yourself." 

"  That's  not  a  very  kind  speech,"  I  said  somewhat  vexedly. 

"No?  And  why?  Because  it's  true?  I  notice  most 
people  complain  of  *  unkindness'  when  they  are  told  a  truth. 
It  is  true,  and  I  see  no  unkindness  in  it.  You've  done  noth- 
ing for  yourself,  and  you're  not  expected  to  do  anything — 
except" — and  he  laughed — "except  just  now  to  get  to  bed, 
and  dream  of  the  enchanting  Sibyl !" 

"  I  confess  I  am  tired,"  I  said,  and  an  unconscious  sigh 
escaped  me.      "And  you?" 

His  gaze  rested  broodingly  on  the  outer  landscape. 

"  I  also  am  tired,"  he  responded  slowly.  "  But  I  never  get 
away  from  my  fatigue,  for  I  am  tired  of  myself.  And  I 
always  rest  badly.     Good-night !" 

"Good-night!"  I  answered,  and  then  paused,  looking  at 
him.     He  returned  my  look  with  interest. 

"Well?"  he  asked  expressively. 

I  forced  a  smile. 

"  Well !"  I  echoed — "  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  say, — 
except — that  I  wish  I  knew  you  as  you  are.  I  feel  that  you 
were  right  in  telling  me  once  that  you  are  not  what  you  seem." 

24* 


282  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

He  still  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  me. 

"As  you  have  expressed  the  wish,"  he  said  slowly,  ''I 
promise  you,  you  shall  know  me  as  I  am,  some  day.  It  may 
be  well  for  you  to  know, — for  the  sake  of  others  who  may 
seek  to  cultivate  my  company." 

I  moved  away  to  leave  the  room. 

''  Thanks  for  all  the  trouble  you  have  taken  to-day,"  I  said 
in  a  lighter  tone;  '' though  I  shall  never  be  able  to  express 
my  full  gratitude  in  words." 

*'If  you  want  to  thank  anybody,  thank  God  that  you  have 
lived  through  it !"  he  replied. 

''Why?"  I  asked,  astonished. 

"Why?  Because  life  hangs  on  a  thread, — a  society  crush 
is  the  very  acme  of  boredom  and  exhaustion, — and  that  we 
escape  with  our  lives  from  a  general  guzzle  and  giggle  is 
matter  for  thanksgiving, — that's  all !  And  God  gets  so  few 
thanks  as  a  rule,  that  you  may  surely  spare  Him  a  brief  one 
for  to-day's  satisfactory  ending." 

I  laughed,  seeing  no  meaning  in  his  words  beyond  the  usual 
satire  he  affected.  I  found  Amiel,  waiting  for  me  in  my  bed- 
room, but  I  dismissed  him  abruptly,  hating  the  look  of  his 
crafty  and  sullen  face,  and  saying  I  needed  no  attendance. 
Thoroughly  fatigued,  I  was  soon  in  bed  and  asleep, — and  the 
terrific  agencies  that  had  produced  the  splendours  of  the  bril- 
liant festival  at  which  I  had  figured  as  host  were  not  revealed 
to  me  by  so  much  as  a  warning  dream  ! 


XXV 

A  FEW  days  after  the  entertainment  at  Willowsmere,  and 
before  the  society  papers  had  done  talking  about  the  magnifi- 
cence and  luxury  displayed  on  that  occasion,  I  woke  up  one 
morning,  like  the  great  poet  Byron,  "  to  find  myself  famous." 
Not  for   any  intellectual  achievement, — not  for   any  unex- 


THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN  283 

pected  deed  ot  heroism, — not  for  any  resolved  or  noble  atti- 
tude in  society  or  politics, — no  ! — I  owed  my  fame  merely  to 
a  quadruped ; — '  Phosphor'  won  the  Derby.  It  was  about 
a  neck-and-neck  contest  between  my  racer  and  that  of  the 
Prime  Minister,  and  for  a  second  or  so  the  result  seemed 
doubtful, — but  as  the  two  jockeys  neared  the  goal,  Amiel, 
whose  thin  wiry  figure,  clad  in  the  brightest  of  bright  scarlet 
silk,  stuck  to  his  horse  as  though  he  were  a  part  of  it,  put 
*  Phosphor'  to  a  pace  he  had  never  yet  exhibited,  appearing 
to  skim  along  the  ground  at  literally  flying  speed, — the  upshot 
being  that  he  scored  a  triumphant  victory,  reaching  the  wun- 
ning-post  a  couple  of  yards  or  more  ahead  of  his  rival.  Accla- 
mations rent  the  air  at  the  vigour  displayed  in  the  'finibh,' 
and  I  became  the  hero  of  the  day, — the  darling  of  the  popu- 
lace. I  was  somewhat  amused  at  the  Premier's  discomfiture, 
— he  took  his  beating  rather  badly.  He  did  not  know  me, 
nor  I  him.  I  was  not  of  his  politics,  and  I  did  not  care  a  jot 
for  his  feelings  one  way  or  the  other,  but  I  was  gratified  in  a 
certain  satirical  sense,  to  find  myself  suddenly  acknowledged 
as  a  greater  man  than  he,  because  I  was  the  owner  of  the 
Derby- winner  !  Before  I  well  knew  where  I  was,  I  found 
myself  being  presented  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  who  shook 
hands  with  me  and  congratulated  me ; — all  the  biggest  aristo- 
crats in  England  were  willing  and  eager  to  be  introduced  to 
me ;— and  inwardly  I  laughed  at  this  exhibition  of  taste  and 
culture  on  the  part  of  '  the  gentlemen  of  England  that  live  at 
home  at  ease.'  They  crowded  round  '  Phosphor,'  whose  wild 
eye  warned  strangers  against  taking  liberties  with  him,  but 
who  seemed  not  a  whit  the  worse  for  his  exertions,  and  who 
apparently  was  quite  ready  to  run  the  race  over  again  with 
equal  pleasure  and  success.  Amiel 's  dark  sly  face  and  cruel 
ferret  eyes  were  evidently  not  attractive  to  the  majority  of  the 
gentlemen  of  the  turf,  though  his  answers  to  all  the  queries  put 
to  him  were  admirably  ready,  respectful  and  not  without  wit. 
But  to  me  the  whole  sum  and  substance  of  the  occasion  was 
the  fact  that  I,  Geoffrey  Tempest,  once  struggling  author,^now 


284  I^HE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

millionaire,  was  simply  by  virtue  of  my  ownership  of  the 
Derby-winner,  *  famous'  at  last !— or  what  society  considers 
famous, — that  fame  that  secures  for  a  man  the  attention  of 
'the  nobility  and  gentry,'  to  quote  from  tradesmen's  adver- 
tisements,— and  also  obtains  the  persistent  adulation  and 
shameless  pursuit  of  all  the  demi-mondaines  who  want  jewels 
and  horses  and  yachts  presented  to  them  in  exchange  for  a  few 
tainted  kisses  from  their  carmined  lips.  Under  the  shower  of 
compliments  I  received  I  stood,  apparently  delighted,— smil- 
ing, affable  and  courteous, — entering  into  the  spirit  of  the 
occasion,  and  shaking  hands  with  my  Lord  That,  and  Sir 
Something  Nobody,  and  His  Serene  Highness  the  Grand  Duke 
So-and-So  of  Beer-Land,  and  His  other  Serene  Lowness  of 
Small-Principality, — but  in  my  secret  soul  I  scorned  these 
people  with  their  social  humbug  and  hypocrisy, — scorned  them 
with  such  a  deadly  scorn  as  almost  amazed  myself.  When 
presently  I  walked  off  the  course  with  Lucio,  who  as  usual 
seemed  to  know  and  to  be  friends  with  everybody,  he  spoke 
in  accents  that  were  far  more  grave  and  gentle  than  I  had  ever 
heard  him  use  before. 

*'  With  all  your  egotism,  Geoffrey,  there  is  something  forci- 
ble and  noble  in  your  nature, — something  which  rises  up  in 
bold  revolt  against  falsehood  and  sham.  Why,  in  Heaven's 
name,  do  you  not  give  it  way?" 

I  looked  at  him  amazed,  and  laughed. 

"  Give  it  way  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Would  you  have  me 
tell  humbugs  that  I  know  them  as  such  ?  and  liars  that  I  dis- 
cern their  lies?  My  dear  fellow,  society  would  become  too 
hot  to  hold  me  !" 

''  It  could  not  be  hotter — or  colder — than  hell,  if  you  be- 
lieved in  hell,  which  you  do  not,"  he  rejoined,  in  the  same 
quiet  voice.  "  But  I  did  not  assume  that  you  should  say 
these  things  straight  out  and  bluntly  to  give  offence.  An 
affronting  candour  is  not  nobleness, — it  is  merely  coarse.  To 
act  nobly  is  better  than  to  speak." 

"And  what  would  you  have  me  do?"  I  asked  curiously. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  285 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  seemed  to  be  earnestly, 
almost  painfully  considering, — then  he  answered — 

**  My  advice  will  seem  to  you  singular,  Geoffrey,  but  if  you 
want  it,  here  it  is.  Give,  as  I  said,  the  noble,  and  what  the 
world  would  call  the  quixotic  part  of  your  nature  full  way, — 
do  not  sacrifice  your  higher  sense  of  what  is  right  and  just 
for  the  sake  of  pandering  to  anyone's  power  or  influence, — 
and — say  farewell  to  me !  I  am  no  use  to  you,  save  to 
humour  your  varying  fancies,  and  introduce  you  to  those 
great — or  small — personages  you  wish  to  know  for  your  own 
convenience  or  advantage ;  believe  me,  it  would  be  much 
better  for  you  and  much  more  consoling  at  the  inevitable 
hour  of  death,  if  you  were  to  let  all  this  false  and  frivolous 
nonsense  go,  and  me  with  it !  Leave  society  to  its  own  fool's 
whirligig  of  distracted  follies,  put  Royalty  in  its  true  place, 
and  show  it  that  all  its  pomp,  arrogance  and  glitter  are  worth- 
less, and  itself  a  nothing  compared  to  the  upright  standing 
of  a  brave  soul  in  an  honest  man,  and,  as  Christ  said  to  the 
rich  ruler,  '  Sell  half  that  thou  hast  and  give  to  the  poor.'  " 

I  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  so  out  of  sheer  surprise,  while 
he  watched  me  closely,  his  face  pale  and  expectant.  A 
curious  shock  of  something  like  compunction  startled  my  con- 
science, and  for  a  brief  space  I  was  moved  to  a  vague  re- 
gret,— regret  that  with  all  the  enormous  capability  I  pos- 
sessed of  doing  good  to  numbers  of  my  fellow-creatures  with 
the  vast  wealth  I  owned,  I  had  not  attained  to  any  higher 
moral  attitude  than  that  represented  by  the  frivolous  folk  who 
make  up  what  is  called  the  '  Upper  Ten'  of  society.  I  took 
the  same  egotistical  pleasure  in  myself  and  my  own  doings  as 
any  of  them,  and  I  was  to  the  full  as  foolishly  conventional, 
smooth-tongued  and  hypocritical  as  they.  They  acted  their 
part  and  I  acted  mine, — none  of  us  were  ever  our  real  selves 
for  a  moment.  In  very  truth,  one  of  the  reasons  why  '  fash- 
ionable' men  and  women  cannot  bear  to  be  alone  is,  that  a 
solitude  in  which  they  are  compelled  to  look  face  to  face  w\)Q\\ 
their  secret  selves  becomes  unbearable  Ijecause  of  the  burden 


286  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

they  carry  of  concealed  vice  and  accusing  shame.  My  emo- 
tion soon  passed,  however,  and  slipping  my  arm  through  Lu- 
cio's,  I  smiled,  as  I  answered — 

"  Your  advice,  my  dear  fellow,  would  do  credit  to  a  Salva- 
tionist preacher,  but  it  is  quite  valueless  to  me,  because  im- 
possible to  follow.  To  say  farewell  for  ever  to  you,  in  the 
first  place,  would  be  to  make  myself  guilty  of  the  blackest 
ingratitude ;  in  the  second  instance,  society,  with  all  its 
ridiculous  humbug,  is  nevertheless  necessary  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  myself  and  my  future  wife, — Royalty,  moreover,  is 
accustomed  to  be  flattered,  and  we  shall  not  be  hurt  by  join- 
ing in  the  general  inane  chorus ;  thirdly,  if  I  did  as  the 
visionary  Jew  suggested " 

^'What  visionary  Jew?"  he  asked,  his  eyes  sparkling 
coldly. 

"  Why,  Christ  of  course  !"  I  rejoined  lightly. 

The  shadow  of  a  strange  smile  parted  his  lips. 

*'It  is  the  fashion  to  blaspheme  !"  he  said.  ''A  mark  of 
brilliancy  in  literature,  and  wit  in  society  !  I  forgot !  Pray 
go  on, — if  you  did  as  Christ  suggested ' ' 

*' Yes, — if  I  gave  half  my  goods  to  the  poor,  I  should  not 
be  thanked  for  it,  or  considered  anything  but  a  fool  for  my 
pains." 

"  You  would  wish  to  be  thanked?"  he  said. 

"  Naturally  !  Most  people  like  a  little  gratitude  in  return 
for  benefits." 

*'  They  do.  And  the  Creator,  who  is  always  giving,  is  sup- 
posed to  like  gratitude  also,"  he  observed;  ''nevertheless, 
He  seldom  gets  it !" 

*'I  do  not  talk  of  hyperphysical  nothingness,"  I  said  with 
impatience.  "  I  am  speaking  of  the  plain  facts  of  this  world 
and  the  people  who  live  in  it.  If  one  gives  largely,  one 
expects  to  be  acknowledged  as  generous ;  but  if  I  were  to 
divide  my  fortune,  and  hand  half  of  it  to  the  poor,  the  matter 
would  be  chronicled  in  about  six  lines  in  one  of  the  papers, 
and  society  would  exclaim,  '  What  a  fool !'  " 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  287 

<*  Then  let  us  talk  no  more  about  it,"  said  Lucio,  his  brows 
clearing,  and  his  eyes  gathering  again  their  wonted  light  of 
mockery  and  mirth.  ''Having  won  the  Derby,  you  have 
really  done  all  a  nineteenth-century  civilization  expects  you 
to  do,  and  for  your  reward,  you  will  be  in  universal  demand 
everywhere.  You  may  hope  soon  to  dine  at  Marlborough 
House, — and  a  little  back-stair  influence  and  political  jobbery 
will  work  you  into  the  Cabinet  if  you  care  for  it.  Did  I  not 
tell  you  I  would  set  you  up  as  successfully  as  the  bear  who  has 
reached  the  bun  on  the  top  of  the  slippery  pole,  a  spectacle 
for  the  envy  of  men  and  the  wonder  of  angels  ?  Well,  there 
you  are  ! — triumphant ! — a  great  creature,  Geoffrey, — in  fact, 
you  are  the  greatest  product  of  the  age,  a  man  with  five  mil- 
lions, and  owner  of  the  Derby-winner  !  What  is  the  glory 
of  intellect  compared  to  such  a  position  as  yours  !  Men  envy 
you, — and  as  for  angels, — if  there  are  any, — you  may  be  sure 
they  do  wonder !  A  man's  fame  guaranteed  by  a  horse  is 
something  indeed  to  make  an  angel  stare  !" 

He  laughed  uproariously,  and  from  that  day  he  never  spoke 
again  of  his  singular  proposition  that  I  should  '  part  with 
him,'  and  let  the  "nobler"  nature  in  me  have  its  way.  I 
was  not  to  know  then  that  he  had  staked  a  chance  upon 
my  soul,  and  lost  it,  and  that  from  henceforward  he  took  a 
determined  course  with  me,  implacably  on  to  the  appalling 
end. 

My  marriage  took  place  on  the  appointed  day  in  June  with 
all  the  pomp  and  extravagant  '  show'  befitting  my  position 
and  that  of  the  woman  I  had  chosen  to  wed.  It  is  needless 
to  describe  the  gorgeousness  of  the  ceremony  in  detail, — 
any  fashionable  '  ladies  paper'  describing  the  wedding  of  an 
Earl's  daughter  to  a  five-fold  millionaire,  will  give  an  idea, 
in  hysterical  rhapsody,  of  the  general  effect.  It  was  an 
amazing  scene, — and  one  in  which  cc^stly  millinery  completely 
vanquished  all  considerations  of  solemnity  or  sacredness  in 
the  supposed  *  divine'  ordinance.  The  impressive  command, 
"I  require  and  charge  ye  both,  as  ye  will  answer  at  the 


288  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

dreadful  day  of  judgment,"  did  not  obtain  half  so  much 
awed  attention  as  the  exquisite  knots  of  pearls  and  diamonds 
which  fastened  the  bride's  silver-emboidered  train  to  her 
shoulders.  'All  the  world  and  his  wife'  were  present, — that 
is,  the  social  world,  which  imagines  no  other  world  exists, 
though  it  is  the  least  part  of  the  community.  The  Prince  of 
Wales  honoured  us  by  his  presence ;  two  great  dignitaries  of 
the  church  performed  the  marriage-rite,  resplendent  in  re- 
dundant fulness  of  white  sleeve  and  surplice,  and  equally 
imposing  in  the  fatness  of  their  bodies  and  unctuous  redne-s 
of  their  faces;  and  Lucio  was  my  'best  man.'  He  was  in 
high,  almost  wild  spirits,  and,  during  our  drive  to  the  church 
together,  had  entertained  me  all  the  way  with  numerous  droll 
stories,  mostly  at  the  expense  of  the  clergy.  When  we  reached 
the  sacred  edifice,  he  said  laughingly  as  he  alighted — 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  it  reported,  Geoffrey,  that  the  devil  is 
imable  to  enter  a  church,  because  of  the  cross  upon  it,  or 
within  it?" 

"I  have  heard  some  such  nonsense,"  I  replied,  smiling  at 
the  humour  expressed  in  his  sparkling  eyes  and  eloquent 
features. 

'' It /j- nonsense,  for  the  makers  of  the  legend  forgot  one 
thing,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice  to  a  whisper  as  we 
passed  under  the  carved  gothic  portico, — ''the  cross  may  be 

present, but so  is  the  clergyman  !     And  wherever  a 

clergyman  goes  the  devil  can  follow  !" 

I  almost  laughed  aloud  at  his  manner  of  making  this  ir- 
reverent observation,  and  the  look  with  which  he  accom- 
panied it.  The  rich  tones  of  the  organ  creeping  softly  on  the 
flower-scented  silence,  however,  quickly  solemnized  my  mood, 
— and  while  I  leaned  against  the  altar-rails  waiting  for  my 
bride,  I  caught  myself  wondering,  for  the  hundredth  time  or 
more,  at  my  comrade's  singularly  proud  and  kingly  aspect,  as 
with  folded  arms  and  lifted  head  he  contemplated  the  lily- 
decked  altar  and  the  gleaming  crucifix  upon  it,  his  meditative 
eyes  bespeaking  a  curious  mingling  of  reverence  and  contempt. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  289 

One  incident  I  remember,  as  standing  out  particularly  in 
all  the  glare  and  glitter  of  the  brilliant  scene,  and  this  occurred 
at  the  signing  of  our  names  in  the  register.  When  Sibyl,  a 
vision  of  angelic  loveliness  in  all  her  bridal  white,  affixed  her 
signature  to  the  entry,  Lucio  bent  towards  her. 

"As  'best  man'  I  claim  an  old-fashioned  privilege!"  he 
said,  and  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  cheek.  She  blushed  a 
vivid  red,  then  suddenly  grew  ghastly  pale,  and  with  a  kind  of 
choking  cry,  reeled  back  in  a  dead  faint  in  the  arms  of  one 
of  her  bridesmaids.  It  was  some  minutes  before  she  was  re- 
stored to  consciousness,  but  she  made  light  both  of  my  alarm 
and  the  consternation  of  her  friends, — and  assuring  us  that 
it  was  nothing  but  the  effect  of  the  heat  of  the  weather  and 
the  excitement  of  the  day,  she  took  my  arm  and  walked 
down  the  aisle  smilingly  through  the  brilliant  ranks  of  her 
staring  and  envious  '  society'  friends,  all  of  whom  coveted 
her  good  fortune,  not  because  she  had  married  a  worthy  or 
gifted  man, — that  would  have  been  no  special  matter  for  con- 
gratulation,— but  simply  because  she  had  married  five  millions 
of  money  !  I  was  the  appendage  to  the  millions — nothing 
further.  She  held  her  head  high  and  haughtily,  though  I  felt 
her  tremble  as  the  thundering  strains  of  the  Bridal  March 
from  Lohengrin  poured  sonorous  triumph  on  the  air.  She 
trod  on  roses  all  the  way, — I  remembered  that  too,  .  .  . 
afterwards.  Her  satin  slipper  crushed  the  hearts  of  a  thousand 
innocent  things  that  must  surely  have  been  more  dear  to  God 
than  she; — the  little  harmless  souls  of  flowers,  whose  task  in 
life,  sweetly  fulfilled,  had  been  to  create  beauty  and  fragrance 
by  their  mere  existence,  expired  to  gratify  the  vanity  of  one 
woman  to  whom  nothing  was  sacred  !  But  I  anticipate, — I 
was  yet  in  my  fool's  dream,  and  imagined  that  the  dying  blos- 
soms were  happy  to  perish  thus  beneath  her  tread  ! 

A  grand  reception  was  held  at  Lord  Elton's  house  after  the 
ceremony,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  chattering,  the  eating  and 
the  drinking,  we — my  newly  made  wife  and  I — departed  amid 
the  profuse  flatteries  and  good  wishes  of  our  'friends,'  who, 

N  t  25 


290  •  THE   SORROWS  OF    SATAN 

primed  with  the  very  finest  champagne,  made  a  very  decent 
show  of  being  sincere.  The  last  person  to  say  farewell  to  us 
at  the  carriage-door  was  Lucio, — and  the  sorrow  I  felt  at 
parting  with  him  was  more  than  I  could  express  in  words. 
From  the  very  hour  of  the  dawning  of  my  good  fortune,  we 
had  been  almost  inseparable  companions, — I  owed  my  suc- 
cess in  society,  everything,  even  my  bride  herself,  to  his 
management  and  tact, — and  though  I  had  now  won  for  my 
life's  partner  the  most  beautiful  of  women,  I  could  not  con- 
template even  the  temporary  breaking  of  the  association 
between  myself  and  my  gifted  and  brilliant  comrade,  without 
a  keen  pang  of  personal  pain  amid  my  nuptial  joys.  Leaning 
his  arms  on  the  carriage-window,  he  looked  in  upon  us  both, 
smiling. 

''  My  spirit  will  be  with  you  both  in  all  your  journeyings  !" 
he  said.  "And  when  you  return,  I  shall  be  one  of  the  first 
to  bid  you  welcome  home.  Your  house-party  is  fixed  for  Sep- 
tember, I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  and  you  will  be  the  most  eagerly  desired  guest  of  all 
invited  !"  I  replied  heartily,  pressing  his  hand. 

"Fie,  for  shame!"  he  retorted  laughingly.  "Be  not  so 
disloyal  of  speech,  Geoffrey  !  Are  you  not  going  to  entertain 
the  Prince,  the  most  popular  of  men? — and  shall  anyone  be 
more  '  eagerly  desired'  than  he  ?  No  ;  I  must  play  a  humble 
third  or  even  fourth  on  your  list  where  Royalty  is  concerned, 
— my  princedom  is  alas  !  not  that  of  Wales, — and  the  throne 
I  might  claim  (if  I  had  anyone  to  help  me,  which  I  have  not) 
is  a  long  way  removed  from  that  of  England  !" 

Sibyl  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes  rested  on  his  handsome  face 
and  fine  figure  with  an  odd  wonder  and  wistfulness,  and  she 
was  very  pale. 

"  Good-bye,  Lady  Sibyl !"  he  added  gently.  "All  joy  be 
with  you  !  To  us  who  are  left  behind,  your  absence  will  seem 
long, — but  \.o  you, — ah  ! — Love  gives  wings  to  time,  and  what 
would  be  to  ordinary  folks  a  month  of  mere  dull  living,  will 
be  for  you  nothing  but  a  moment's  rapture  !     Love  is  better 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  291 

than  wealth, — you  have  found  that  out  already  I  know  ! — but 
I  think — and  hope — that  you  are  destined  to  make  the  knowl- 
edge more  certain  and  complete  !  Think  of  me  sometimes  ! 
Au  revoir  !" 

The  horses  started, — a  handful  of  rice,  flung  by  the  society 
idiot  who  is  always  at  weddings,  rattled  against  the  door  and 
on  the  roof  of  the  brougham,  and  Lucio  stepped  back,  waving 
his  hand.  To  the  last  we  saw  him,  a  tall  stately  figure  on  the 
steps  of  Lord  Elton's  mansion,  surrounded  by  an  ultra-fash- 
ionable throng,  .  .  .  bridesmaids  in  bright  attire  and  pictuie- 
hats, — young  girls  all  eager  and  excited-looking,  each  of  them 
no  doubt  longing  fervently  for  the  day  to  come  when  they 
might  severally  manage  to  secure  as  rich  a  husband  as  myself, 
.  .  .  match-making  mothers  and  wicked  old  dowagers,  exhib- 
iting priceless  lace  on  their  capacious  bosoms,  and  ablaze  with 
diamonds,  .  .  .  men  with  white  button-hole  bouquets  in  their 
irreproachably  fitting  frock-coats, — servants  in  gay  liveries, 
and  the  usual  street-crowd  of  idle  sight-seers,-^all  this  cluster 
of  faces,  costumes  and  flowers  was  piled  against  the  grey  back- 
ground of  the  stone  portico, — and  in  the  midst,  the  dark 
beauty  of  Lucio' s  face  and  the  luminance  of  his  flashing  eyes 
made  him  the  conspicuous  object  and  chief  centre  of  attrac- 
tion, .  .  .  then  .  .  .  the  carriage  turned  a  sharp  corner, — 
the  faces  vanished, — and  Sibyl  and  I  realized  that  from  hence- 
forward we  were  left  alone, — alone  to  face  the  future  and  our- 
selves,— and  to  learn  the  lesson  of  love  ...  or  hate  .  .  .  for 
evermore  together. 


XXVI 

I  CANNOT  now  trace  the  slow  or  swift  flitting  by  of  phan- 
tasmal events,  .  .  .  wild  ghosts  of  days  or  weeks  that  drifted 
past,  and  brought  me  gradually  and  finally  to  a  time  when  I 
found  myself  wandering,  numb  and  stricken  and  sick  at  heart, 
by  the  shores  of  a  lake  in  Switzerland, — a  small  lake,  densely 


292  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

blue,  with  apparently  a  thought  in  its  depths  such  as  is  reflected 
in  a  child's  earnest  eye.  I  gazed  down  at  the  clear  and  glisten- 
ing water  almost  iinseeingly, — the  snow-peaked  mountains 
surrounding  it  were  too  high  for  the  lifting  of  my  aching  sight, 
— loftiness,  purity,  and  radiance  were  unbearable  to  my  mind, 
crushed  as  it  was  beneath  a  weight  of  dismal  wreckage  and 
ruin.  What  a  fool  was  I,  ever  to  have  believed  that  in  this 
world  there  could  be  such  a  thing  as  happiness  !  Misery 
stared  me  in  the  face, — life-long  misery, — and  no  escape  but 
death  !  Misery  ! — it  was  the  word  which,  like  a  hellish  groan, 
had  been  uttered  by  the  three  dreadful  phantoms  that  had 
once,  in  an  evil  vision,  disturbed  my  rest.  What  had  I  done, 
I  demanded  indignantly  of  myself,  to  deserve  this  wretched- 
ness which  no  wealth  could  cure  ? — why  was  fate  so  unjust  ? 
Like  all  my  kind,  I  was  unable  to  discern  the  small  yet  sirong 
links  of  the  chain  I  had  myself  wrought  and  which  bound  me 
to  my  own  undoing, — I  blamed  fate,  or  rather  God, — and 
talked  of  injustice  merely  because  /  personally  suffered,  never 
realizing  that  what  I  considered  unjust  was  but  the  equitable 
measuring  forth  of  that  Eternal  Law  which  is  carried  out  with 
as  mathematical  an  exactitude  as  the  movement  of  the  planets, 
notwithstanding  man's  pigmy  efforts  to  impede  its  fulfilment. 
The  light  wind  blowing  down  from  the  snow  peaks  above  me 
ruffled  the  placidity  of  the  little  lake  by  which  I  aimlessly 
strolled.  I  watched  the  tiny  ripples  break  over  its  surface  like 
the  lines  of  laughter  on  a  human  face,  and  wondered  morosely 
whether  it  was  deep  enough  to  drown  in  !  For  what  was  the 
use  of  living  on, — knowing  what  I  knew  !  Knowing  that  she 
whom  I  had  loved  and  whom  I  loved  still  in  a  way  that  was 
hateful  to  myself,  was  a  thing  viler  and  more  shameless  in 
character  than  the  veriest  poor  drab  of  the  street  who  sells 
herself  for  current  coin, — that  the  lovely  body  and  angel-face 
were  but  an  attractive  disguise  for  the  soul  of  a  harpy, — a  vul- 
ture of  vice,  .  .  .  my  God  ! — an  irrepressible  cry  escaped  me 
as  my  thoughts  went  on  and  on  in  the  never-ending  circle  and 
problem  of  incurable,  unspeakable  despair,  and  I  threw  myself 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  293 

down  on  a  shelving  bank  of  grass  that   sloped  towards  the 
lake  and  covered  my  face  in  a  paroxysm  of  tearless  agony. 

Still  inexorable  thought  worked  in  my  brain  and  forced  me 
to  consider  my  position.  Was  she, — was  Sibyl — more  to 
blame  than  I  myself  for  all  the  strange  havoc  wrought  ?  I  had 
married  her  of  my  own  free  will  and  choice, — and  she  had 
told  me  beforehand — "  I  am  a  contaminated  creature,  trained 
to  perfection  in  the  lax  morals  and  prurient  literature  of  my 
day."  Well, — and  so  it  had  proved  !  My  own  blood  burned 
with  shame  as  I  reflected  how  ample  and  convincing  were  the 
proofs ! — and,  starting  up  from  my  recumbent  posture,  I  paced 
up  and  down  again  restlessly  in  a  fever  of  self-contempt  and 
disgust.  What  could  I  do  with  a  woman  such  as  she  to  whom 
I  was  now  bound  for  life  ?  Reform  her  ?  She  would  laugh  me 
to  scorn  for  the  attempt.  Reform  myself?  She  would  sneer 
at  me  for  an  effeminate  milksop.  Besides,  was  not  I  as  willing 
to  be  degraded  as  she  was  to  degrade  me  ? — a  very  victim  to 
my  brute  passions  ?  Tortured  and  maddened  by  my  feelings 
I  roamed  about  wildly,  and  s'arted  as  if  a  pistol-shot  had  been 
fired  near  me  when  the  plash  of  oars  sounded  on  the  silence 
and  the  keel  of  a  small  boat  grated  on  the  shore,  the  boatman 
within  it  respectfully  begging  me  in  mellifluous  French  to 
employ  him  for  an  hour,  I  assented,  and  in  a  minute  or  two 
Avas  out  on  the  lake  in  the  middle  of  the  red  glow  of  sunset 
which  turned  the  snow-summits  to  points  of  flame,  and  the 
water  to  the  hue  of  ruby  wine.  I  think  the  man  who  rowed 
me  saw  that  I  was  in  no  very  pleasant  humour,  for  he  preserved 
a  discreet  silence, — and  I,  pulling  my  hat  partly  over  my  eyes, 
lay  back  in  the  stern,  still  busy  with  my  wretched  musings. 
Only  a  month  married  ! — and  yet, — a  sickening  satiety  had 
taken  ihe  place  of  the  so-called  ''deathless"  lover's  passion. 
There  were  moments  even,  when  my  wife's  matchless  physical 
beauty  appeared  hideous  to  me  I  knew  her  as  she  was, 
and  no  exterior  charm  could  ever  again  cover  for  me  the 
revolting  nature  within.  And  what  puzzled  me  from  dawn 
to  dusk  was  her  polished,  specious  hypocrisy, — her  amazing 

25* 


294  THE    SORROWS   OF    SATAN 

aptitude  for  lies  !  To  look  at  her, — to  hear  her  speak, — one 
would  have  deemed  her  a  very  saint  of  purity, — a  delicate 
creature  whom  a  coarse  word  would  startle  and  offend, — a 
very  incarnation  of  the  sweetest  and  most  gracious  woman- 
hood, all  heart  and  feeling  and  sympathy.  Everyone  thought 
thus  of  her, — and  never  was  there  a  greater  error.  Heart  she 
had  none ;  that  fact  was  borne  in  upon  me  two  days  after  our 
marriage  while  we  were  in  Paris,  for  there  a  telegram  reached 
us  announcing  her  mother's  death.  The  paralyzed  Countess 
of  Elton  had,  it  appeared,  expired  suddenly  on  our  wedding- 
day, — or  rather  our  wedding-night, — but  the  Earl  had  deemed 
it  best  to  wait  forty-eight  hours  before  interrupting  our  hyme- 
neal happiness  with  the  melancholy  tidings.  He  followed  his 
telegram  by  a  brief  letter  to  his  daughter  in  which  the  con- 
cluding lines  were  these:  ''As  you  are  a  bride  and  are  trav- 
elling abroad,  I  should  advise  you  by  no  means  to  go  into 
mourning.  Under  the  circumstances  it  is  really  not  neces- 
sary." 

And  Sibyl  had  readily  accepted  his  suggestion,  keeping 
generally,  however,   to  white  and   pale   mauve  colourings  in 
her  numerous  and  wonderful  toilettes,  in  order  not  to  outrage 
the  proprieties  too  openly  in  the  opinions  of  persons  known 
to  her,  whom  she  might  possibly  meet  casually  in  the  foreign 
towns  we  visited.     No  word  of  regret  passed  her  lips,  and  no 
tears  were  shed  for  her  mother's  loss.     She  only  said — 
*'  What  a  good  thing  her  sufferings  are  over  !" 
Then,  with  a  little  sarcastic  smile  she  had  added — 
"  I  wonder  when  we  shall  receive  the  Elton-Chesney  wed- 
ding cards  !" 

I  did  not  reply,  for  I  was  pained  and  grieved  at  her  lack  of 
all  gentle  feeling  in  the  matter,  and  I  was  also,  to  a  certain 
extent,  superstitiously  affected  by  the  fact  of  the  death  occur- 
ring on  our  marriage-day.  However,  this  was  now  a  thing  of 
the  past ;  a  month  had  elapsed, — a  month  in  which  the  tearing- 
down  of  illusions  had  gone  on  daily  and  hourly, — till  I  was 
left  to  contemplate  the  uncurtained  bare  prose  of  life,  and  the 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  295 

knowledge  that  I  had  wedded  a  beautiful  feminine  animal  with 
the  soul  of  a  shameless  libertine.  Here  I  pause  and  ask  my- 
self,— Was  not  I  also  a  libertine?  Yes, — I  freely  admit  it, — 
but  the  libertinage  of  a  man,  while  it  may  run  to  excess  in  hot 
youth,  generally  resolves  itself,  under  the  influence  of  a  great 
love,  into  a  strong  desire  for  undefiled  sweetness  and  modesty 
in  the  woman  beloved.  If  a  man  has  indulged  in  both  folly 
and  sin,  the  time  comes  at  last,  when,  if  he  has  any  good  left 
in  him  at  all,  he  turns  back  upon  himself  and  lashes  his  own 
vices  with  the  scorpion  whip  of  self-contempt  till  he  smarts 
with  the  rage  and  pain  of  it, — and  then,  aching  in  every  pulse 
with  his  deserved  chastisement,  he  kneels  in  spirit  at  the  feet 
of  some  pure  true-hearted  woman  whose  white  soul,  like  an 
angel,  hovers  compassionately  above  him,  and  there  lays  down 
his  life,  saying,  ''Do  what  you  will  with  it, — it  is  yours!" 
And  woe  to  her  who  plays  lightly  with  such  a  gift  or  works 
fresh  injury  upon  it !  No  man,  even  if  he  has  in  his  day 
indulged  in  '  rapid'  living,  should  choose  a  '  rapid'  woman 
for  his  wife, — he  had  far  better  put  a  loaded  pistol  to  his  head 
and  make  an  end  of  it. 

The  sunset-glory  began  to  fade  from  the  landscape  as  the 
little  boat  glided  on  over  the  tranquil  water,  and  a  great  shadow 
was  on  my  mind,  like  the  shadow  of  that  outer  darkness  which 
would  soon  be  night.  Again  I  asked  myself, — Was  there  no 
happiness  possible  in  all  the  world  ?  Just  then  the  Angelus 
chimed  from  a  little  chapel  on  the  shore,  and  as  it  rang,  a 
memory  stirred  in  my  brain  moving  me  well-nigh  to  tears. 
Mavis  Clare  was  happy  ! — Mavis,  with  her  frank  fearless  eyes, 
sweet  face  and  bright  nature, — Mavis,  wearing  her  crown  of 
Fame  as  simply  as  a  child  might  wear  a  wTeath  of  may-blossom, 
— she,  with  a  merely  moderate  share  of  fortune  which  even  in  its 
slight  proportion  was  only  due  to  her  own  hard  incessant  w^ork, 
— she  was  happy.  And  I — with  my  millions — was  wretched. 
How  w^as  it  ? — Why  was  it  ?  What  had  I  done  ?  I  had  lived 
as  my  compeers  lived, — I  had  followed  the  lead  of  all  society, 
— I  had  feasted  my  friends  and  effectually  '  snubbed'  my  foes, 


296  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

— I  had  comported  myself  exactly  as  others  of  my  wealth  com- 
port themselves, — and  I  had  married  a  woman  whom  most 
men,  looking  upon  once,  would  have  been  proud  to  win. 
Nevertheless  there  seemed  to  be  a  curse  upon  me.  What  had 
I  missed  out  of  life?  I  knew, — but  was  ashamed  to  own  it, 
because  I  had  previously  scorned  what  I  called  the  dream- 
nothings  of  mere  sentiment.  And  now  I  had  to  acknowledge 
the  paramount  importance  of  those  '  dream-nothings'  out  of 
which  all  true  living  must  come.  I  had  to  realize  that  my 
marriage  was  nothing  but  the  mere  mating  of  the  male  and 
female  animal, — a  coarse  bodily  union  and  no  more  ; — that 
all  the  finer  and  deeper  emotions  which  make  a  holy  thing  of 
human  wedlock  were  lacking, — the  mutual  respect,  the  trust- 
ing sympathy, — the  lovely  confidence  of  mind  with  mind, — 
the  subtle  inner  spiritual  bond  which  no  science  can  analyze, 
and  which  is  so  much  closer  and  stronger  than  the  material, 
and  knits  immortal  souls  together  when  bodies  decay, — these 
things  had  no  existence  and  never  would  exist  between  my 
wife  and  me.  Thus,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  there  was  a 
strange  blankness  in  the  world, — I  was  thrust  back  upon 
myself  for  comfort  and  found  none.  What  should  I  do  with 
my  life,  I  wondered  drearily  !  Win  fame, — true  fame, — after 
all?  With  Sibyl's  witch-eyes  mocking  my  efforts? — never! 
If  I  had  ever  had  any  gifts  of  creative  thought  within  me  she 
would  have  killed  it. 

The  hour  was  over, — the  boatman  rowed  me  into  land,  and 
I  paid  and  dismissed  him.  The  sun  had  completely  sunk, — 
there  were  dense  purple  shadows  darkening  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  one  or  two  small  stars  were  faintly  discernible  in 
the  east.  I  walked  slowly  back  to  the  villa  w^here  we  were 
staying, — a  ^  dependance'  belonging  to  the  large  hotel  of  the 
district,  which  we  had  rented  for  the  sake  of  privacy  and  in- 
dependence, some  of  the  hotel-servants  being  portioned  off  to 
attend  upon  us,  in  addition  to  my  own  man  Morris,  and  my 
wife's  maid.  1  found  Sibyl  in  the  garden,  reclining  in  a  basket- 
chair,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  after  glow  of  the  sunset,  and  in 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  297 

her  hands  a  book, — one  of  the  loathliest  of  the  prurient  novels 
that  have  been  lately  written  by  women  to  degrade  and  shame 
their  sex.  With  a  sudden  impulse  of  rage  upon  me  which  I 
could  not  resist,  I  snatched  the  volume  from  her  and  flung  it 
into  the  lake  below.  She  made  no  movement  of  either  sur- 
prise or  offence, — she  merely  turned  her  eyes  away  from  the 
glowing  heavens  and  looked  at  me  with  a  little  smile. 

*'  How  violent  you  are  to-day,  Geoffrey  !"  she  said. 

I  gazed  at  her  in  sombre  silence.  From  the  light  hat  with 
its  pale  mauve  orchids  that  rested  on  her  nut-brown  hair,  to 
the  point  of  her  daintily  embroidered  shoe,  her  dress  was  per- 
fect,— and  she  was  perfect.  /  knew  that, — a  matchless  piece 
of  womanhood  .  .  .  outwardly.  My  heart  beat, — there  was 
a  sense  of  suffocation  in  my  throat, — I  could  have  killed  her 
for  the  mingled  loathing  and  longing  which  her  beauty  roused 
in  me. 

"I  am  sorry  !"  I  said  hoarsely,  avoiding  her  gaze.  *'  But  I 
hate  to  see  you  with  such  a  book  as  that." 

''You  know  its  contents?"  she  queried,  with  the  same 
slight  smile. 

*'  I  can  guess." 

''  Such  things  have  to  be  written,  they  say,  now-a-days,"  she 
went  on.  "And,  certainly,  to  judge  from  the  commendation 
bestowed  on  these  sort  of  books  by  the  press,  it  is  very  evi- 
dent that  the  wave  of  opinion  is  setting  in  the  direction  of 
letting  girls  know  all  about  marriage  before  they  enter  upon 
it,  in  order  that  they  may  do  so  with  their  eyes  wide  open, — 
zwv  wide  open!"  She  laughed,  and  her  laughter  hurt  me 
like  a  physical  wound.  ''What  an  old-fashioned  idea  the 
bride  of  the  poets  and  sixty-years-ago  romancists  seems  now  !" 
she  continued.  "  Imagine  her  ! — a  shrinking  tender  creature, 
shy  of  beholders,  timid  of  speech,  .  .  .  wearing  the  em- 
blematic veil,  which  in  former  days,  you  know,  used  to  cover 
the  face  entirely  as  a  symbol  that  the  secrets  of  marriage  were 
as  yet  hidden  from  the  maiden's  innocent  and  ignorant  eyes. 
Now  the  veil  is  worn  flung  back  from  the  bride's  brows,  and 


298  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

she  stares  unabashed  at  everybody, — oh,  yes,  indeed  we  know- 
quite  well  what  we  are  doing  now  when  we  marry,  thanks  to 
the  *  new'  fiction  !" 

''The  new  fiction  is  detestable,"  I  said  hotly,  "both  in 
style  and  morality.  Even  as  a  question  of  literature  I  won- 
der at  your  condescending  to  read  any  of  it.  The  woman 
whose  dirty  book  I  have  just  thrown  away — and  I  feel  no 
compunction  for  having  done  it — is  destitute  of  grammar  as 
well  as  decency." 

"  Oh,  but  the  critics  don't  notice  that,"  she  interrupted, 
with  a  delicate  mockery  vibrating  in  her  voice.  "It  is  ap- 
parently not  their  business  to  assist  in  preserving  the  purity 
of  the  English  language.  What  they  fall  into  raptures  over 
is  the  originality  of  the  *  sexual'  theme,  though  I  should  have 
thought  all  such  matters  were  as  old  as  the  hills.  I  never 
read  reviews  as  a  rule,  but  I  did  happen  to  come  across  one 
on  the  book  you  have  just  drowned, — and  in  it  the  reviewer 
stated  he  had  cried  over  it !" 

She  laughed  again. 

"  Beast  !"  I  said  emphatically.  "  He  probably  found  in  it 
some  glozing-over  of  his  own  vices.  But  you,  Sibyl — why  do 
you  read  such  stuff? — how  can  you  read  it?" 

"  Curiosity  moved  me  in  the  first  place,"  she  answered 
listlessly.  "I  wanted  to  see  what  makes  a  reviewer  cry. 
Then  when  I  began  to  read,  I  found  that  the  story  was  all 
about  the  manner  in  which  men  amuse  themselves  with  the 
soiled  doves  of  the  highways  and  bye-ways, — and  as  I  was 
not  very  well  instructed  in  that  sort  of  thing  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  learn?  You  know  these  unpleasant  morsels  of  infor- 
mation on  unsavoury  subjects  are  like  the  reputed  suggestions 
of  the  devil, — if  you  listen  to  one,  you  are  bound  to  hear 
more.  Besides,  literature  is  supposed  to  reflect  the  time  we 
live  in, — and  that  kind  of  literature  being  more  prevalent 
than  anything  else,  we  are  compelled  to  accept  and  study  it  as 
the  mirror  of  the  age." 

With  an  expression  on  her  face  that  was  half  mirth  and  half 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  299 

scorn,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and  looked  down  into  the  lovely 
lake  below  her. 

"  The  fishes  will  eat  that  book,"  she  observed.  "  I  hope  it 
will  not  poison  them  !  If  they  could  read  and  understand  it, 
what  singular  ideas  they  would  have  of  us  human  beings  !" 

"Why  don't  you  read  Mavis  Clare's  books?"  I  asked 
suddenly.      "  You  told  me  you  admired  her." 

*'So  I  do, — immensely!"  she  answered.  ''I  admire  her 
and  wonder  at  her  both  together.  How  that  woman  can  keep 
her  child's  heart  and  child's  faith  in  a  world  like  this,  is  more 
than  I  can  understand.  It  is  always  a  perfect  marvel  to  me, — 
a  sort  of  supernatural  surprise.  You  ask  me  why  don't  I  read 
her  books, — I  do  read  them, — I've  read  them  all  over  and 
over  again, — but  she  does  not  write  many,  and  one  has  to 
wait  for  her  productions  longer  than  for  those  of  most  authors. 
When  I  want  to  feel  like  an  angel,  I  read  Mavis  Clare, — but  I 
more  often  am  inclined  to  feel  the  other  way,  and  then  her 
books  are  merely  so  many  worries  to  me." 

*' Worries?"  I  echoed. 

"  Yes.  It  is  worrying  to  find  somebody  believing  in  a  God 
when  jw/  can't  believe  in  Him, — to  have  beautiful  faiths 
offered  to  you  which  jw/  can't  grasp, — and  to  know  that 
there  is  a  creature  alive,  a  woman  like  yourself  in  everything 
except  mind,  who  is  holding  fast  a  happiness  which  you 
can  never  attain, — no,  not  though  you  held  out  praying 
hands  day  and  night,  and  shouted  wild  appeals  to  the  dull 
heavens  ! ' ' 

At  that  moment  she  looked  like  a  queen  of  tragedy, — her 
violet  eyes  ablaze,  her  lips  apart,  her  breast  heaving.  I  ap- 
proached her  with  a  strange  nervous  hesitation  and  touched 
her  hand.  She  gave  it  to  me  passively.  I  drew  it  through 
my  arm,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  we  paced  silently  up  and 
down  the  gravel  walk.  The  lights  from  the  monster  hotel 
which  catered  for  us  and  our  wants  were  beginning  to  twinkle 
from  basement  to  roof,  and  just  above  the  chalet  we  rented,  a 
triad  of  stars  sparkled  in  the  shape  of  a  trefoil. 


300  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

''  Poor  Geoffrey  !"  she  said  presently,  with  a  quick  upward 
glance  at  me, — "  I  am  sorry  for  you  !  With  all  my  vagaries 
of  disposition  I  am  not  a  fool,  and  at  anyrate  I  have  learned 
how  to  analyze  myself  as  well  as  others.  I  read  you  as 
easily  as  I  read  a  book, — I  see  what  a  strange  tumult  your 
mind  is  in  !  You  love  me — and  you  loathe  me  ! — and  the 
contrast  of  emotion  makes  a  wreck  of  you  and  your  ideals. 
Hush, — don't  speak;  I  know, — I  know!  But  what  would 
you  have  me  be  ?  An  angel  ?  I  cannot  realize  such  a  being 
for  more  than  a  fleeting  moment  of  imagination.  A  saint? 
They  were  all  martyred.  A  good  w^oman  ?  I  never  met  one. 
Innocent  ? — ignorant  ?  I  told  you  before  we  married  that  I 
was  neither ;  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  discover  as  far  as 
the  relations  between  men  and  women  are  concerned, — I  have 
taken  the  measure  of  the  inherent  love  of  vice  in  both  sexes. 
There  is  not  a  pin  to  choose  between  them — men  are  no  worse 
than  women, — women  no  worse  than  men.  I  have  dis- 
covered everything — except  God  ! — and  I  conclude  no  God 
could  ever  have  designed  such  a  crazy  and  mean  business  as 
human  life." 

While  she  thus  spoke,  I  could  have  fallen  at  her  feet  and 
implored  her  to  be  silent.  For  she  was,  unknowingly,  giving 
utterance  to  some  of  the  many  thoughts  in  which  I  myself  had 
frequently  indulged, — and  yet,  from  her  lips  they  sounded 
cruel,  unnatural,  and  callous  to  a  degree  that  made  me  shrink 
from  her  in  fear  and  agony.  We  had  reached  a  little  grove  of 
pines, — and  here  in  the  silence  and  shadow,  I  took  her  in  my 
arms  and  stared  disconsolately  upon  the  beauty  of  her  face. 

"Sibyl!"  I  whispered, — ''Sibyl,  what  is  wrong  wnth  us 
both  ?  How  is  it  that  we  do  not  seem  to  find  the  loveliest 
side  of  love? — why  is  it  that  even  in  our  kisses  and  em- 
braces, some  impalpable  darkness  comes  between  us,  so  that 
we  anger  or  weary  each  other  when  we  should  be  glad  and 
satisfied?  What  is  it?  Can  you  tell?  For  you  know  the 
darkness  is  there  !" 

A  curious  look  came  into  her  eyes, — a    far-away  strained 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  301 

look  of  hungry  yearning,  mingled,  as  I  thought,  with  com- 
passion for  me. 

**  Yes,  it  is  there!"  she  answered  slowly.  ''And  it  is  of 
our  own  mutual  creation.  I  believe  you  have  something 
nobler  in  your  nature,  Geoffrey,  than  I  have  in  mine, — an 
indefinable  something  that  recoils  from  me  and  my  theories 
despite  your  wish  and  will.  Perhaps  if  you  had  given  way  to 
that  feeling  in  time,  you  would  never  have  married  me.  You 
speak  of  the  loveliest  side  of  love, — to  me  there  is  no  lovely 
side, — it  is  all  coarse  and  horrible.  You  and  I  for  instance, — 
cultured  man  and  woman, — we  cannot,  in  marriage,  get  a 
flight  beyond  the  common  emotions  of  Hodge  and  his  girl  !" 
She  laughed  violently,  and  shuddered  in  my  arms.  ''What 
liars  the  poets  are,  Geoffrey  !  They  ought  to  be  sentenced  to 
life-long  imprisonment  for  their  perjuries !  They  help  to 
mould  the  credulous  beliefs  of  a  woman's  heart; — in  her  early 
youth  she  reads  their  delicious  assurances,  and  imagines  that 
love  will  be  all  they  teach, — a  thing  divine  and  lasting  beyond 
earthly  countings  ! — then  comes  the  coarse  finger  of  prose  on 
the  butterfly-wing  of  poesy,  and  the  bitterness  and  hideous- 
ness  of  complete  disillusion  !" 

I  held  her  still  in  my  arms  with  the  fierce  grasp  of  a  man 
clinging  to  a  spar  ere  he  drowns  in  mid- ocean. 

"But  I  love  you,  Sibyl! — my  wife,  I  love  you!"  I  said, 
with  a  passion  that  choked  my  utterance. 

"You  love  me, — yes,  I  know,  but  how?  In  a  way  that  is 
abhorrent  to  yourself!"  she  replied.  "It  is  not  poetic  love, 
— it  is  man's  love,  and  man's  love  is  brute  love.  So  it  is, — 
so  it  will  be, — so  it  must  be.  Moreover,  the  brute-love  soon 
tires, — and  when  it  dies  out  from  satiety  there  is  nothing  left. 
Nothing,  Geoffrey,  absolutely  nothing  but  a  blank  and  civil 
form  of  intercourse,  which  I  do  not  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to 
keep  up  for  the  admiration  and  comment  of  society." 

She  disengaged  herself  from  my  embrace,  and  moved  to- 
wards the  house. 

"  Come  !"  she  added,  turning  her  exquisite  head  back  over 

26! 


302  THE   SORROWS  OF   Sx\TAN 

her  shoulder  with  a  feline  caressing  grace  that  she  alone  pos- 
sessed. **  You  know  there  is  a  famous  lady  in  London  who 
advertises  her  salable  charms  to  the  outside  public  by  means 
of  her  monogram  worked  into  the  lace  of  all  her  window- 
blinds,  thinking  it  no  doubt  good  for  trade  !  I  am  not  quite 
so  bad  as  that !  You  have  paid  dearly  for  me  I  know ;  but 
remember  I  as  yet  wear  no  jewels  but  yours,  and  crave  no 
gifts  beyond  those  you  are  generous  enough  to  bestow, — and 
my  dutiful  desire  is  to  give  you  as  much  full  value  as  I  can 
for  your  money. ' ' 

*'  Sibyl,  you  kill  me  !"  I  cried,  tortured  beyond  endurance. 
^*  Do  you  think  me  so  base " 

I  broke  off  with  almost  a  sob  of  despair. 

''  You  cannot  help  being  base,"  she  said,  steadily  regarding 
me, — *'  because  you  are  a  man.  I  am  base  because  I  am  a 
woman.  If  we  believed  in  a  God,  either  of  us,  we  might 
discover  some  different  way  of  life  and  love, — who  knows  ? 
But  neither  you  nor  I  have  any  remnant  of  faith  in  a  Being 
whose  existence  all  the  scientists  of  the  day  are  ever  at  work 
to  disprove.  We  are  persistently  taught  that  we  are  animals 
and  nothing  more, — let  us  therefore  not  be  ashamed  of  ani- 
malism. Animalism  and  atheism  are  approved  by  the  scien- 
tists and  applauded  by  the  press, — and  the  clergy  are  powerless 
to  enforce  the  faith  they  preach.  Come,  Geoffrey,  don't  stay 
mooning  like  a  stricken  Parsifal  under  those  pines, — throw 
away  that  thing  which  troubles  you,  your  conscience, — throw 
it  away  as  you  have  thrown  the  book  I  was  lately  reading, 
and  consider  this, — that  most  men  of  your  type  take  pride 
and  rejoice  in  being  the  prey  of  a  bad  woman,  so  you  should 
really  congratulate  yourself  on  having  one  for  a  wife, — one 
who  is  so  broad-minded,  too,  that  she  will  always  let  you  have 
your  own  way  in  everything  you  do,  provided  you  let  her 
have  hers.  It  is  the  way  all  marriages  are  arranged  now-a- 
days, — at  any  rate  in  oi//-  set, — otherwise  the  tie  would  be 
impossible  of  endurance.     Come  !" 

**  We  cannot  live  together  on  such  an  understanding,  Sibyl !" 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  303 

I  said  hoarsely,  as  I  walked  slowly  by  her  side  towards  the 
villa. 

''  Oh,  yes,  we  can  !"  she  averred,  a  little  malign  smile  play- 
ing round  her  lips.  "  We  can  do  as  others  do, — there  is  no 
necessity  for  us  to  stand  out  from  the  rest  like  quixotic  fools, 
and  pose  as  models  to  other  married  people, — we  should  only 
be  detested  for  our  pains.  It  is  surely  better  to  be  popular 
than  virtuous, — virtue  never  pays.  See,  there  is  our  interest- 
ing German  waiter  coming  to  inform  us  that  dinner  is  ready; 
please  don't  look  so  utterly  miserable,  for  we  have  not  quar- 
relled, and  it  would  be  foolish  to  let  the  servants  think  we  have." 

I  made  no  answer.  We  entered  the  house,  and  dined, — 
Sibyl  keeping  up  a  perfect  lire  of  conversation,  to  which  I 
replied  in  mere  monosyllables, — and  after  dinner  we  went  as 
usual  to  sit  in  the  illuminated  gardens  of  the  adjacent  hotel 
and  hear  the  band.  Sibyl  was  known  and  universally  admired 
and  flattered  by  many  of  the  people  staying  there, — and,  as 
she  moved  about  among  her  acquaintances,  chatting  first  with 
one  group  and  then  with  another,  I  sat  in  moody  silence 
watching  her  with  increasing  wonderment  and  horror.  Her 
beauty  seemed  to  me  like  the  beauty  of  the  poison-flower, 
which,  brilliant  in  colour  and  perfect  in  shape,  exhales  death 
to  those  who  pluck  it  from  its  stem.  And  that  night,  when  I 
held  her  in  my  arms,  and  felt  her  heart  beating  against  my 
own  in  the  darkness,  an  awful  dread  arose  in  me, — a  dread  as 
to  whether  I  might  not  at  some  time  or  other  be  tempted  to 
strangle  her  as  she  lay  on  my  breast, — strangle  her  as  one 
would  strangle  a  vampire  that  sucked  one's  blood  and  strength 
away  ! 


XXVII 

We  concluded  our  wedding-tour  rather  sooner  than  we  had 
at  first  intended,  and  returned  to  England  and  Willowsmere 
Court  about  the  middle  of  August.     I  had  a  vague  notion 


304  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

stirring  in  me  that  gave  me  a  sort  of  dim  indefinable  conso- 
lation, and  it  was  this, — I  meant  to  bring  my  wife  and  Mavis 
Clare  together,  believing  that  the  gentle  influence  of  the 
gracious  and  happy  creature,  who,  like  a  contented  bird  in 
its  nest,  dwelt  serene  in  the  little  domain  so  near  my  own, 
might  have  a  softening  and  wholesome  effect  upon  Sibyl's 
pitiless  love  of  analysis  and  scorn  of  all  noble  ideals.  The 
heat  in  Warwickshire  was  at  this  time  intense, — the  roses 
were  out  in  their  full  beauty,  and  the  thick  foliage  of  the 
branching  oaks  and  elms  in  my  grounds  afforded  grateful 
shade  and  repose  to  the  tired  body,  while  the  tranquil  love- 
liness of  the  woodland  and  meadow  scenery,  comforted  and 
soothed  the  equally  tired  mind.  After  all  there  is  no  country 
in  the  world  so  fair  as  England, — none  so  richly  endowed 
with  verdant  forest  and  fragrant  flowers, — none  that  can 
boast  of  sweeter  nooks  for  seclusion  and  romance.  In  Italy, 
that  land  so  over-praised  by  hysterical  poseiws  who  foolishly 
deem  it  admirable  to  glorify  any  country  save  their  own, 
the  fields  are  arid  and  brown  and  parched  by  the  too  fervent 
sun, — there  are  no  shady  lanes  such  as  England  can  boast 
of  in  all  her  shires, — and  the  mania  among  Italians  for  ruth- 
lessly cutting  down  their  finest  trees  has  not  only  actually 
injured  the  climate,  but  has  so  spoilt  the  landscape  that  it  is 
difficult  to  believe  at  all  in  its  once  renowned  and  still  erro- 
neously reported  charm.  Such  a  bower  of  beauty  as  '  Lily 
Cottage'  was  in  that  sultry  August  could  never  have  been 
discovered  in  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  Italy.  Mavis 
superintended  the  care  of  her  gardens  herself, — she  had  two 
gardeners,  who  under  her  directions  kept  the  grass  and  trees 
continually  watered, — and  nothing  could  be  imagined  more 
lovely  than  the  picturesque  old-fashioned  house,  covered  with 
roses  and  tufts  of  jessamine  that  seemed  to  tie  up  the  roof  in 
festal  knots  and  garlands,  while  around  the  building  spread 
the  reaches  of  deep  emerald  lawn  and  bosky  arbours  of  foliage 
where  all  the  most  musical  song-birds  apparently  found  refiige 
and  delight,  and  where  at  evening  a  perfect  colony  of  nightin- 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  305 

gales  kept  up  a  bubbling  fountain  of  delicious  melody.  I 
remember  well  the  afternoon,  warm,  languid  and  still,  when  I 
took  Sibyl  to  see  the  woman-author  she  had  so  long  admired. 
The  heat  was  so  great  that  in  our  own  grounds  all  the  birds 
were  silent,  but  when  we  approached  '  Lily  Cottage'  the  first 
thing  we  heard  was  the  piping  of  a  thrush  up  somewhere  among 
the  roses, — a  mellow  liquid  warble  expressing  'sweet  con- 
tent,' and  mingling  with  the  subdued  coo-cooings  of  the  dove 
*  reviewers'  who  were  commenting  on  whatever  pleased  or 
displeased  them  in  the  distance. 

"  What  a  pretty  place  it  is  !"  said  my  wife,  as  she  peeped 
over  the  gate  and  through  the  odorous  tangles  of  honeysuckle 
and  jessamine.  ''I  really  think  it  is  prettier  than  Willows- 
mere.     It  has  been  wonderfully  improved." 

We  were  shown  in,  and  Mavis,  who  had  expected  our  visit, 
did  not  keep  us  waiting  long.  As  she  entered,  clad  in  some 
gossamer  white  stuff  that  clung  softly  about  her  pretty  figure 
and  was  belted  in  by  a  simple  ribbon,  an  odd  sickening  pang 
went  through  my  heart.  The  fair  untroubled  face,  the  joyous 
yet  dreamy  student  eyes,  the  sensitive  mouth, — and  above  all, 
the  radiant  look  of  happiness  that  made  the  whole  expression 
of  her  features  so  bright  and  fascinating,  taught  me  in  one 
flash  of  conviction  all  that  a  woman  might  be,  and  all  that  she 
too  frequently  was  not.  And  I  had  hated  Mavis  Clare  ! — I 
had  even  taken  up  my  pen  to  deal  her  a  wanton  blow  through 
the  medium  of  anonymous  criticism,  .  .  .  but  this  was  before 
I  knew  her, — before  I  realized  that  there  could  be  any  differ- 
ence between  her  and  the  female  scarecrows  who  so  fre- 
quently pose  as  '  novelists'  without  being  able  to  write  cor- 
rect English,  and  who  talk  in  public  of  their  '  copy'  with  the 
glibness  gained  from  Grub  Street  and  the  journalists'  cheap 
restaurant.  Yes — I  had  hated  her, — and  now — now,  almost 
I  loved  her !  Sibyl,  tall,  queenly  and  beautiful,  gazed  upon 
her  with  eyes  that  expressed  astonishment  as  well  as  admira- 
tion. 

''  To  think  that  you  are  the  famous  Mavis  Clare  !"  she  said, 
u  26* 


3o6  THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

smiling  as  she  held  out  her  hand.  ''  I  always  heard  and  knew 
that  you  did  not  look  at  all  literary,  but  I  never  quite  realized 
that  you  could  be  exactly  what  I  see  you  are !" 

**  To  look  literary  does  not  always  imply  that  you  are 
literary!"  returned  Mavis,  laughing  a  little.  "Too  often  I 
am  afraid  you  will  find  that  the  women  who  take  pains  to  look 
literary  are  ignorant  of  literature  !  But  how  glad  I  am  to  see 
you.  Lady  Sibyl !  Do  you  know  I  used  to  watch  you  playing 
about  on  the  lawns  at  Willowsmere  when  I  was  quite  a  little 
girl?" 

''  And  I  used  to  watch  jw/,"  responded  Sibyl.  "  You  used 
to  make  daisy-chains  and  cowslip-balls  in  the  fields  opposite  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Avon.  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to 
know  we  are  neighbours.  You  must  come  and  see  me  often 
at  Willowsmere." 

Mavis  did  not  answer  immediately, — she  busied  herself  in 
pouring  out  tea  and  dispensing  it  to  both  of  us.  Sibyl,  who 
was  always  on  the  alert  for  glimpses  of  character,  noticed  that 
she  did  not  answer,  and  repeated  her  words  coaxingly. 

*' You  will  come,  will  you  not?  As  often  as  you  like;  the 
oftener  the  better.     We  must  be  friends,  you  know  ! ' ' 

Mavis  looked  up  then,  a  frank  sweet  smile  in  her  eyes. 

*'  Do  you  really  mean  it  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Mean  it  !"  echoed  Sibyl.      ''  Why,  of  course  I  do  !" 

**  How  can  you  doubt  it !"  I  exclaimed. 

**  Well,  you  must  both  forgive  me  for  asking  such  a  question," 
said  Mavis,  still  smiling.  '*  But  you  see  you  are  now  among 
what  are  called  the  'county  magnates,'  and  county  magnates 
consider  themselves  infinitely  above  all  authors. ' '  She  laughed 
outright,  and  her  blue  eyes  twinkled  with  fun.  ''  I  think  many 
of  them  estimate  writers  of  books  as  some  sort  of  strange  out- 
growth of  humanity  that  is  barely  decent.  It  is  deliciously 
funny  and  always  amuses  me  ;  nevertheless,  among  my  many 
faults,  the  biggest  one  is,  I  fancy,  pride,  and  a  dreadfully 
obstinate  spirit  of  independence.  Now,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  have  been  asked  by  many  so-called  *  great'  people  to  their 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  '307 

houses,  and  when  I  have  gone,  I  have  generally  been  sorry  for 
it  afterwards." 

*' Why?"  I  asked.  ''They  honour  themselves  by  inviting 
you." 

**  Oh,  I  don't  think  they  take  it  in  that  way  at  all !"  she 
replied,  shaking  her  fair  head  demurely.  ''They  fancy 
they  have  performed  a  great  act  of  condescension, — whereas 
it  is  really  I  who  condescend,  for  it  is  very  good  of  me,  you 
know,  to  leave  the  society  of  the  Pallas  Athene  in  my  study 
for  that  of  a  flounced  and  frizzled  lady  of  fashion."  Her 
bright  smile  again  irradiated  her  face  and  she  went  on — 
"  Once  I  was  asked  to  luncheon  with  a  certain  baron  and 
baroness  who  invited  a  few  guests  '  to  meet  me,'  so  they  said. 
I  was  not  introduced  to  more  than  one  or  two  of  these  people, 
— the  rest  sat  and  stared  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  new  kind  of 
fish  or  fowl.  Then  the  baron  showed  me  his  house,  and 
told  me  the  prices  of  his  pictures  and  his  china, — he  was  even 
good  enough  to  explain  which  was  Dresden  and  which  was 
Delft  ware,  though  I  believe,  benighted  author  as  I  am,  I 
could  have  instructed  him  equally  on  these  and  other  matters. 
However,  I  managed  to  smile  amicably  through  the  whole 
programme,  and  professed  myself  charmed  and  delighted  in 
the  usual  way ; — but  they  never  asked  me  to  visit  them  again, 
— and  (unless  indeed  they  wanted  me  to  be  impressed  with 
their  furniture-catalogue),  I  can  never  make  out  what  I  did 
to  be  asked  at  all,  and  what  I  have  done  never  to  be  asked 
any  more  ! ' ' 

"They  must  have  h^^xv  parvenus,''  said  Sibyl  indignantly. 
"No  well-bred  people  would  have  priced  their  goods  to  you, 
unless  they  happened  to  be  Jews." 

Mavis  laughed — a  merry  little  laugh  like  a  peal  of  bells, — 
then  she  continued — 

"  Well,  I  will  not  say  who  they  were, — I  must  keep  some- 
thing f  ir  my  '  literary  reminiscences'  when  I  get  old  !  Then 
all  these  people  will  be  named,  and  go  down  to  posterity  as 
Dante's  enemies  went  down  to   Dante's  hell !     I  have  only 


3o8  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

told  you  the  incident  just  to  show  you  why  I  asked  you  if 
you  meant  it,  when  you  invited  me  to  visit  you  at  Willows- 
mere.  Because  the  baron  and  baroness  I  have  spoken  of 
'  gushed'  over  me  and  my  poor  books  to  such  an  extent  that 
you  would  have  fancied  I  was  to  be  for  evermore  one  of  their 
dearest  friends, — and  they  didn't  mean  it.  Other  people  I 
know  embrace  me  effusively  and  invite  me  to  their  houses,  and 
they  don't  mean  it.  And  when  I  find  out  these  shams,  I  like 
to  make  it  very  clear  on  my  own  side  that  I  do  not  seek  to  be 
embraced  or  invited,  and  that  if  certain  great  folks  deem  it  a 
'  favour'  to  ask  me  to  their  houses,  I  do  not  so  consider  it, 
but  rather  think  the  '  favour'  is  entirely  on  my  part  if  I  accept 
the  invitation.  And  I  do  not  say  this  for  my  own  self  at 
all, — self  has  nothing  to  do  with  it, — but  I  do  say  it  and 
strongly  assert  it  for  the  sake  of  the  dignity  of  Literature  as 
an  art  and  profession.  If  a  few  other  authors  would  maintain 
this  position,  we  might  raise  the  standard  of  letters  by  de- 
grees to  what  it  was  in  the  old  days  of  Scott  and  Byron.  I 
hope  you  do  not  think  me  too  proud  ?' ' 

*'  On  the  contrary,  I  think  you  are  quite  right,"  said  Sibyl 
earnestly.  ''And  I  admire  you  for  your  courage  and  inde- 
pendence. Some  of  the  aristocracy  are,  I  know,  such  utter 
snobs  that  often  I  feel  ashamed  to  belong  to  them.  But  as 
far  as  we  are  concerned,  I  can  only  assure  you  that  if  you 
will  honour  us  by  becoming  our  friend  as  well  as  neighbour, 
you  shall  not  regret  it.     Do  try  and  like  me  if  you  can  !" 

She  bent  forward  with  a  witching  smile  on  her  fair  face. 
Mavis  looked  at  her  seriously  and  admiringly. 

"  How  beautiful  you  are  !"  she  said  frankly.  ''  Everybody 
tells  you  this  of  course, — still,  I  cannot  help  joining  in  the 
general  chorus.  To  me,  a  lovely  face  is  like  a  lovely  flower, 
— I  must  admire  it.  Beauty  is  quite  a  divine  thing,  and 
though  I  am  often  told  that  the  plain  people  are  always  the 
good  people,  I  never  can  quite  believe  it.  Nature  is  surely 
bound  to  give  a  beautiful  face  to  a  beautiful  spirit." 

Sibyl,  who  had  smiled  with  pleasure  at  the  first  words  of  the 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  309 

open  compliment  paid  her  by  one  of  the  most  gifted  of  her 
own  sex,  now  flushed  deeply. 

"  Not  always,  Miss  Clare,"  she  said,  veiling  her  brilliant 
eyes  beneath  the  droop  of  her  long  lashes.  One  can  imagine 
a  fair  fiend  as  easily  as  a  fair  angel." 

''True!"  and  Mavis  looked  at  her  musingly;  then  sud- 
denly laughing  in  her  blithe  bright  way,  she  added,  "Quite 
true  !  Really  I  cannot  picture  an  ugly  fiend, — for  the  fiends 
are  supposed  to  be  immortal,  and  I  am  convinced  that  im- 
mortal ugliness  has  no  part  in  the  universe.  Downright 
hideousness  belongs  to  humanity  alone, — and  an  ugly  face  is 
such  a  blot  on  creation  that  we  can  only  console  ourselves  by 
the  reflection  that  it  is  fortunately  perishable,  and  that  in 
course  of  time  the  soul  behind  it  will  be  released  from  its 
ill-formed  husk,  and  will  be  allowed  to  wear  a  fairer  aspect. 
Yes,  Lady  Sibyl,  I  will  come  to  Willowsmere ;  I  cannot  re- 
fuse to  look  upon  such  loveliness  as  yours  as  often  as  I  may !" 

"You  are  a  charming  flatterer!"  said  Sibyl,  rising  and 
putting  an  arm  round  her  in  that  affectionate  coaxing  way 
of  hers  which  seemed  so  sincere  and  which  so  frequently 
meant  nothing.  "  But  I  confess  I  prefer  to  be  flattered  by  a 
woman  rather  than  by  a  man.  Men  say  the  same  things  to 
all  women, — they  have  a  very  limited  repertoire  of  compli- 
ments,— and  they  will  tell  a  fright  she  is  beautiful  if  it  hap- 
pens to  serve  their  immediate  purpose.  But  women  them- 
selves can  so  hardly  be  persuaded  to  admit  that  any  good 
qualities  exist  either  inward  or  outward  in  one  another,  that 
when  they  do  say  a  kind  or  generous  thing  of  their  own  sex  it 
is  a  wonder  worth  remembering.     May  I  see  your  study?" 

Mavis  willingly  assented,  and  we  all  three  went  into  the 
peaceful  sanctum  where  the  marble  Pallas  presided,  and  where 
the  dogs  Tricksy  and  Emperor  were  both  ensconced, — Em- 
peror sitting  up  on  his  haunches  and  surveying  the  prospect 
from  the  window,  and  Tricksy  with  a  most  absurd  air  of 
importance,  imitating  the  larger  animal's  attitude  precisely, 
at  a  little  distance  off.     Both  creatures  were  friendly  to  my 


3ia  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

wife  and  to  me,  and  while  Sibyl  was  stroking  the  St  Bernard's 
massive  head,  Mavis  said  suddenly — 

"  Where  is  the  friend  who  came  with  you  here  first,  Prince 
Rimanez?" 

"■  He  is  in  St  Petersburg  just  now,"  I  answered.  ''But  he 
will  be  here  in  two  or  three  weeks  to  stay  with  us  on  a  visit 
for  some  time." 

"He  is  surely  a  very  singular  man,"  said  Mavis  thought- 
fully. **Do  you  remember  how  strangely  my  dogs  behaved 
to  him?  Emperor  was  quite  restless  and  troublesome  for  two 
or  three  hours  after  he  had  gone." 

And  in  a  few  words,  she  told  Sibyl  the  incident  of  the  St 
Bernard's  attack  upon  Lucio. 

"Some  people  have  a  natural  antipathy  to  dogs,"  said 
Sibyl,  as  she  heard.  "And  the  dogs  always  find  it  out  and 
resent  it.  But  I  should  not  have  thought  Prince  Rimanez 
had  an  antipathy  to  any  creatures  except — women  !" 

And  she  laughed,  a  trifle  bitterly. 

"  Except  women  !"  echoed  Mavis  surprisedly.  "Does  he 
hate  women  ?  He  must  be  a  very  good  actor  then,  for  to  me 
he  was  wonderfully  kind  and  gentle." 

Sibyl  looked  at  her  intently,  and  was  silent  for  a  minute. 
Then  she  said — 

"Perhaps  it  is  because  he  knows  you  are  unlike  the  ordi- 
nary run  of  women  and  have  nothing  in  common  with  their 
usual  trumpery  aims.  Of  course  he  is  always  courteous  to  our 
sex, — but  I  think  it  is  easy  to  see  that  his  courtesy  is  often 
worn  as  a  mere  mask  to  cover  a  very  different  feeling." 

"You  have  perceived  that,  then,  Sibyl?"  I  said  with  a 
slight  smile. 

"  I  should  be  blind  if  I  had  not  perceived  it,"  she  replied. 
"I  do  not,  however,  blame  him  for  his  pet  aversion, — I  think 
it  makes  him  all  the  more  attractive  and  interesting." 

"He  is  a  great  friend  of  yours?"  inquired  Mavis,  looking 
at  me  as  she  put  the  question. 

"The  very  greatest  friend  I  have,"  I  replied  quickly.      "I 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


3TI 


owe  him  more  than  I  can  ever  repay, — indeed  I  have  to  thank 
him  even  for  introducing  me  to  my  wife." 

I  said  the  words  unthinkingly  and  playfully,  but  as  I  uttered 
them,  a  sudden  shock  affected  my  nerves, — a  shock  of  painful 
memory.  Yes,  it  was  true  ! — I  owed  to  him,  to  Lucio,  the 
misery,  fear,  degradation  and  shame  of  having  such  a  woman 
as  Sibyl  was,  united  to  me  till  death  should  us  part,  I  felt 
myself  turning  sick  and  giddy,  and  I  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
quaint  oak  chairs  that  helped  to  furnish  Mavis  Clare's  study, 
allowing  the  two  women  to  pass  out  of  the  open  French 
window  into  the  sunlit  garden  together,  the  dogs  following  at 
their  heels.  I  watched  them  as  they  went, — my  wife,  tall  and 
stately,  attired  in  the  newest  and  most  fashionable  mode ; 
Mavis,  small  and  slight,  with  her  soft  white  gown  and  float- 
ing waist-ribbon, — the  one  sensual,  the  other  spiritual, — the 
one  base  and  vicious  in  desire,  the  other  pure-souled  and 
aspiring  to  noblest  ends, — the  one  a  physically  magnificent 
animal,  the  other  merely  sweet-faced  and  ideally  fair  like  a 
sylph  of  the  woodlands, — and  looking,  1  clenched  my  hands  as 
I  thought  with  bitterness  of  spirit  what  a  mistaken  choice  I 
had  made.  In  the  profound  egotism  which  had  always  been 
part  of  my  nature  I  now  actually  allowed  myself  to  believe 
that  I  might,  had  I  chosen,  have  wedded  Mavis  Clare, — never 
for  one  moment  imagining  that  all  my  wealth  would  have 
been  useless  to  me  in  such  a  quest,  and  that  I  might  as  well 
have  proposed  to  pluck  a  star  from  the  sky  as  to  win  a  woman 
who  was  able  to  read  my  nature  thoroughly,  and  who  would 
never  have  come  down  to  my  money -level  from  her  intellectual 
throne, — no,  not  though  I  had  been  a  monarch  of  many 
nations.  I  stared  at  the  large  tranquil  features  of  the  Pallas 
Athene,  and  the  blank  eyeballs  of  the  marble  goddess 
appeared  to  regard  me  in  turn  with  impassive  scorn.  I 
glanced  round  the  room,  and  at  the  walls  adorned  with  the 
wise  sayings  of  poets  and  philosophers, — sayings  that  re- 
minded me  of  truths  which  I  knew,  yet  never  accepted  as 
practicable ;  and  presently  my  eyes  were  attracted  to  a  corner 


312  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

near  the  writing-desk,  which  I  had  not  noticed  before,  where 
there  was  a  small  dim  lamp  burning.  Above  this  lamp  an 
ivory  crucifix  gleamed  white  against  draperies  of  dark  purple 
velvet, — below  it,  on  a  silver  bracket,  was  an  hour-glass  through 
which  the  sand  was  running  in  glistening  grains,  and  round  the 
entire  little  shrine  was  written  in  letters  of  gold,  "  Now  is  the 
acceptable  time  !" — the  word  *  Now'  being  in  larger  characters 
than  the  rest.  '  Now'  was  evidently  Mavis's  motto, — to  lose 
no  time,  but  to  work,  to  pray,  to  love,  to  hope,  to  thank  God 
and  be  glad  for  life,  all  in  the  '  Now' — and  neither  to  regret 
the  past  nor  forebode  the  future,  but  simply  do  the  best  that 
could  be  done,  and  leave  all  else  in  child-like  confidence  to 
the  Divine  Will.  I  got  up  restlessly, — the  sight  of  the  crucifix 
curiously  annoyed  me  ; — and  I  followed  the  path  my  wife  .and 
Mavis  had  taken  through  the  garden.  I  found  them  looking 
in  at  the  cage  of  the  '  Athenaeum'  owls, — the  owl-in-chief 
being  as  usual  pufi'ed  out  with  his  own  importance  and  swell- 
ing visibly  with  indignation  and  excess  of  feather.  Sibyl 
turned  as  she  saw  me, — her  face  was  bright  and  smiling. 

'^  Miss  Clare  has  very  strong  opinions  of  her  own,  Geoffrey," 
she  said.  "  She  is  not  as  much  captivated  by  Prince  Rimanez 
as  most  people  are, — in  fact,  she  has  just  confided  to  me 
that  she  does  not  quite  like  him." 

Mavis  blushed,  but  her  eyes  met  mine  with  fearless  candour. 

''It  is  wrong  to  say  what  one  thinks,  I  know,"  she  mur- 
mured in  somewhat  troubled  accents.  "And  it  is  a  dreadful 
fault  of  mine.  Please  forgive  me,  Mr  Tempest  !  You  tell 
me  the  prince  is  your  greatest  friend, — and  I  assure  you  I 
was  immensely  impressed  by  his  appearance  when  I  first  saw 
him,  .  ,  .  but  afterwards,  .  .  .  after  I  had  studied  him  a 
little,  the  conviction  was  borne  in  upon  me  that  he  was  not 
altogether  what  he  seemed." 

"That  is  exactly  what  he  says  of  himself,"  I  answered, 
laughing  a  little.  "  He  has  a  mystery  I  believe, — and  he  has 
promised  to  clear  it  up  for  me  some  day.  But  I'm  sorry  you 
don't  like  him,  Miss  Clare, — for  he  likes  you." 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  313 

"  Perhaps  when  I  meet  him  again  my  ideas  may  be  differ- 
ent," said  Mavis  gently.  ''At  present,  .  .  .  well — do  not 
let  us  talk  of  it  any  more, — indeed  I  feel  I  have  been  very 
rude  to  express  any  opinion  at  all  concerning  one  for  whom 
you  and  Lady  Sibyl  have  so  great  a  regard.  But  somehow  I 
seemed  nnpelled,  almost  against  my  will,  to  say  what  I  did  just 
now." 

Her  soft  eyes  looked  pained  and  puzzled,  and  to  relieve  her, 
and  change  the  subject,  I  asked  if  she  was  writing  anything 
new. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied.  "  It  would  never  do  for  me  to  be 
idle.  The  public  are  very  kind  to  me, — and  no  sooner  have 
they  read  one  thing  of  mine  than  they  clamour  for  another, 
so  I  am  kept  very  busy." 

"  And  what  of  the  critics  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  good  deal  of 
curiosity. 

She  laughed. 

'*I  neve-r  pay  the  least  attention  to  them,"  she  answered, 
"  except  when  they  are  hasty  and  misguided  enough  to  write  lies 
about  me, — then  I  very  naturally  take  the  liberty  to  contradict 
those  lies,  either  through  my  own  statement  or  that  of  my 
lawyers.  Apart  from  refusing  to  allow  the  public  to  be  led 
into  a  false  notion  of  my  work  and  aims,  I  have  no  grudge 
whatever  against  the  critics.  They  are  generally  very  poor, 
hard  working  men,  and  have  a  frightful  struggle  to  live.  I 
have  often,  privately,  done  some  of  them  a  good  turn  without 
their  knowledge.  A  publisher  of  mine  sent  me  an  MS.  the 
other  day  by  one  of  my  deadliest  enemies  on  the  press,  and 
stated  that  my  opinion  would  decide  its  rejection  or  accept- 
ance. I  read  it  through,  and  though  it  was  not  very  brilliant 
work  it  was  good  enough,  so  I  praised  it  as  warmly  as  I  could, 
and  urged  its  publication,  with  the  stipulation  that  the  author 
should  never  be  told  I  had  had  the  casting  vote.  It  has 
just  come  out,  I  see, — and  I'm  sure  I  hope  it  will  succeed." 
Here  she  paused  to  gather  a  few  deep  damask  roses,  which  she 
handed  to  Sibyl.  ''Yes,  critics  are  very  badly,  even  cruelly 
o  27 


314  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

paid,"  she  went  on  musingly.  *'  It  is  not  to  be  expected  that 
they  should  write  eulogies  of  the  successful  author,  while  they 
continue  unsuccessful, — such  work  could  not  be  anything  but 
gall  and  wormwood  to  them.  I  know  the  i)oor  little  wife  of 
one  of  them, — and  settled  her  dressmaker's  bill  for  her  because 
she  was  afraid  to  show  it  to  her  husband.  The  very  week 
afterwards  he  slashed  away  at  my  last  book  in  the  most 
approved  style  in  the  paper  on  which  he  is  employed  and  got, 
I  suppose,  about  a  guinea  for  his  trouble.  Of  course  he  didn't 
know  about  his  little  wife  and  her  dunning  dressmaker ;  and 
he  never  will  know,  because  I  have  bound  her  over  to  secrecy." 

^*  But  why  do  you  do  such  things  ?"  asked  Sibyl  astonished. 
"  I  would  have  let  his  wife  get  into  the  County  Court  for  her 
bill,  if  I  had  been  you  !" 

''  Would  you  ?"  and  Mavis  smiled  gravely.  *'  Well,  I  could 
not.  You  know  Who  it  was  that  said  '  Bless  them  that  curse 
you,  and  do  good  to  them  that  hate  you.'  Besides,  the  poor 
little  woman  was  frightened  to  death  at  her  own  expenditure. 
It  is  pitiful,  you  know,  to  see  the  helpless  agon-es  of  people 
who  will  live  beyond  their  incomes, — they  suffer  much  more 
than  the  beggars  in  the  street  who  make  frequently  more  than 
a  pound  a  day  by  mere  whining  and  snivelling.  The  critics 
are  much  more  in  evil  case  than  the  beggars — i^w  of  them 
make  even  a  pound  a  day,  and  of  course  they  regard  as  their 
natural  enemies  the  authors  who  make  thirty  to  fifty  pounds  a 
week.  I  assure  you  I  am  very  sorry  for  critics  all  round, — 
they  are  the  least-regarded  and  worst-rewarded  of  all  the  lit- 
erary community.  And  I  never  bother  myself  at  all  about 
what  they  say  of  me,  except  as  I  before  observed,  when  in 
their  haste  they  tell  lies, — then  of  course  it  becomes  necessary 
for  me  to  state  the  truth  in  simple  self-defence  as  well  as  by 
way  of  duty  to  my  public.  But  as  a  rule  I  hand  over  all  my 
press-notices  to  Tricksy  there," — indicating  the  minute  York- 
shire terrier  who  followed  closely  at  the  edge  of  her  white 
gown, — ''and  he  tears  them  to  indistinguishable  shreds  in 
about  three  minutes  ! ' ' 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  315 

She  laughed  merrily,  and  Sibyl  smiled,  watching  her  with 
the  same  wonder  and  admiration  that  had  been  expressed  in 
her  looks  more  or  less  since  the  beginning  of  our  interview 
with  this  light-hearted  possessor  of  literary  fame.  We  were 
now  walking  towards  the  gate  preparatory  to  taking  our 
departure. 

''May  I  come  and  talk  to  you  sometimes?"  my  wife  said 
suddenly,  in  her  prettiest  and  most  pleading  voice.  "  It 
would  be  such  a  privilege!" 

"You  can  come  whenever  you  like  in  the  afternoons," 
replied  Mavis  readily.  ''The  mornings  belong  to  a  goddess 
more  dominant  even  than  Beauty, — Work  !" 

"You  never  work  at  night?"  I  asked. 

"Indeed  no!  I  never  turn  the  ordinances  of  Nature  up- 
side down,  as  I  am  sure  I  should  get  the  worst  of  it  if  I  made 
such  an  attempt.  The  night  is  for  sleep,  and  I  use  it  thank- 
fully for  that  blessed  purpose." 

"  Some  authors  can  only  write  at  night  though,"  I  said. 

"  Then  you  may  be  sure  they  only  produce  blurred  pictures 
and  indistinct  characterization,"  said  Mavis.  "  Some  I  know 
there  are,  who  invite  inspiration  through  gin,  or  opium,  as 
well  as  through  the  midnight  influences,  but  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  such  methods.  Morning  and  a  freshly  rested  brain 
are  required  for  literary  labour, — that  is,  if  one  wants  to 
write  a  book  that  will  last  for  more  than  one  '  season.'  " 

She  accompanied  us  to  the  gate,  and  stood  under  the  porch, 
her  big  dog  beside  her  and  the  roses  waving  high  over  her 
head. 

"At  anyrate,  work  agrees  with  you,"  said  Sibyl,  fixing 
upon  her  a  long,  intent,  almost  envious  gaze.  "You  look 
perfectly  happy. ' ' 

"I  a7?i  perfectly  happy,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "I  have 
nothing  in  all  the  world  to  wish  for,  except  that  I  may  die  as 
peacefully  as  I  have  lived." 

"  May  that  day  be  far  distant !"  I  said  earnestly. 

She  raised  her  soft  meditative  eyes  to  mine. 


3i6  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

''Thank  you!"  she  responded  gently.  ''But  I  do  not 
mind  when  it  comes,  so  long  as  it  finds  me  ready." 

She  waved  her  hand  to  us  as  we  left  her  and  turned  the 
corner  of  the  lane, — and  for  some  minutes  w^e  walked  on 
slowly  in  absolute  silence.     Then  at  last  Sibyl  spoke — 

'*!  quite  understand  the  hatred  there  is  in  some  quarters 
for  Mavis  Clare,"  she  said.  ''I  am  afraid  I  begin  to  hate 
her  myself !" 

I  stopped  and  stared  at  her,  astonished  and  confounded. 

*'You  begin  to  hate  her — you? — and  why?" 

** Are  you  so  blind  that  you  cannot  perceive  why?"  she  re- 
torted, the  little  malign  smile  I  knew  so  well  playing  round 
her  lips.  ''  Because  she  is  happy  !  Because  she  has  no  scan- 
dals in  her  life,  and  because  she  dares  to  be  content !  One 
longs  to  make  her  miserable  !  But  how  to  do  it  ?  She  be- 
lieves in  a  God, — she  thinks  all  He  ordains  is  right  and 
good.  With  such  a  firm  faith  as  that,  she  would  be  happy 
in  a  garret  earning  but  a  few  pence  a  day.  I  see  now  per- 
fectly how  she  has  won  her  public, — it  is  by  the  absolute 
conviction  she  has  herself  of  the  theories  of  life  she  tries  to 
instil.  What  can  be  done  against  her  ?  Nothing !  But  I 
understand  why  the  critics  would  like  to  '  quash'  her, — if  I 
were  a  critic,  fond  of  whisky-and-soda  and  music-hall  w^omen, 
I  should  like  to  quash  her  myself  for  being  so  different  to  the 
rest  of  her  sex." 

''What  an  incomprehensible  woman  you  are,  Sibyl!"  I 
exclaimed  with  real  irritation.  "  You  admire  Miss  Clare's 
books, — you  have  always  admired  them, — you  have  asked  her 
to  become  your  friend, — and  almost  in  the  same  breath  you 
aver  you  would  like  to  '  quash'  her  or  to  make  her  miserable. 
I  confess  I  cannot  understand  you  !" 

"  Of  course  you  cannot!"  she  responded  tranquilly,  her 
eyes  resting  upon  me  with  a  curious  expression,  as  we  paused 
for  an  instant  under  the  deep  shade  of  a  chestnut  tree  before 
entering  our  own  grounds.  "  I  never  supposed  you  could, 
and,  unlike   the   ordinary  femme  incomprise^    I   have   never 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


317 


blamed  you  for  your  want  of  comprehension.  It  has  taken 
me  some  time  to  understand  myself,  and  even  now  I  am  not 
quite  sure  that  I  have  gauged  the  depths  or  shallownesses  of  my 
own  nature  correctly.  But  on  this  matter  of  Mavis  Clare,  can 
you  not  imagine  that  badness  may  hate  goodness  ?  That  the 
confirmed  drunkard  may  hate  the  sober  citizen  ?  That  the 
outcast  may  hate  the  innocent  maiden  ?  And  that  it  is  pos- 
sible that  I, — reading  life  as  I  do,  and  finding  it  loathsome  in 
many  of  its  aspects, — distrusting  men  and  women  utterly, — 
and  being  destitute  of  any  faith  in  God, — may  hate, — yes 
hate" — and  she  clenched  her  hand  on  a  tuft  of  drooping  leaves 
and  scattered  the  green  fragments  at  her  feet — "a  woman  who 
finds  life  beautiful,  and  God  existent, — who  takes  no  part  in 
our  social  shams  and  slanders,  and  who  in  place  of  my  self- 
torturing  spirit  of  analysis,  has  secured  an  enviable  fame  and 
the  honour  of  thousands,  allied  to  a  serene  content  ?  Why, 
it  would  be  something  worth  living  for  to  make  such  a  woman 
wretched  for  once  in  her  life  ! — but  as  she  is  constituted  it  is 
impossible  to  do  it." 

She  turned  from  me  and  walked  slowly  onward, — I  follow- 
ing in  a  pained  silence. 

''  If  you  do  not  mean  to  be  her  friend,  you  should  tell  her 
so,"  I  said  presently.  ''You  heard  what  she  said  about  pre- 
tended protestations  of  regard?" 

' '  I  heard, ' '  she  replied  morosely.  ''  She  is  a  clever  woman, 
Geoffrey,  and  you  may  trust  her  to  find  me  out  without  any 
explanation  !" 

As  she  said  this,  I  raised  my  eyes  and  looked  full  at  her, — 
her  exceeding  beauty  was  becoming  almost  an  agony  to  my 
sight,  and  in  a  sudden  fool's  paroxysm  of  despair  I  ex- 
claimed— 

*'  Oh,  Sibyl,  Sibyl  !     Why  were  you  made  as  you  are?" 

"Ah,  why  indeed?"  she  rejoined,  with  a  faint  mocking 
smile.  "  And  why,  being  made  as  I  am,  was  I  born  an  Earl's 
daughter?  If  I  had  been  an  Arab  of  the  street,  I  should 
have  been  in  my  proper  place, — and  novels  would  have  been 

27* 


3i8  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

written  about  me,  and  plays, — and  I  might  have  become  such 
a  heroine  as  should  cause  all  good  men  to  weep  for  joy  be- 
cause of  my  generosity  in  encouraging  their  vices  !  But  as 
an  Earl's  daughter,  respectably  married  to  a  millionaire,  I  am 
a  mistake  of  nature.  Yet  nature  does  make  mistakes  some- 
times, Geoffrey,  and  when  she  does  they  are  generally  irreme- 
diable." 

We  had  now  reached  our  own  grounds,  and  I  walked,  in 
miserable  mood,  beside  her  across  the  lawn  towards  the  house. 

"  Sibyl,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I  had  hoped  you  and  Mavis  Clare 
might  be  friends.   ..." 

She  laughed. 

**  So  we  shall  be  friends,  I  daresay, — for  a  little  while,"  she 
replied.  "  But  the  dove  does  not  willingly  consort  with  the 
raven,  and  Mavis  Clare's  way  of  life  and  studious  habits 
would  be  to  me  insufferably  dull.  Besides,  as  I  said  before, 
she,  as  a  clever  woman  and  a  thinker,  is  too  clear-sighted  not 
to  find  me  out  in  the  course  of  time.  But  I  will  play  hum- 
bug as  long  as  I  can.  If  I  perform  the  part  of  '  county  lady' 
or  'patron,'  of  course  she  won't  stand  me  for  a  moment.  I 
shall  have  to  assume  a  much  more  difficult  role, — that  of  an 
honest  w^oman." 

Again  she  laughed, — a  cruel  little  laugh  that  chilled  my 
blood,  and  paced  slowly  into  the  house  through  the  open 
windows  of  the  drawing-room.  And  I,  left  alone  in  the  gar- 
den among  the  nodding  roses  and  waving  trees,  felt  that  the 
beautiful  domain  of  Willowsmere  had  suddenly  grown  hideous 
and  bereft  of  all  its  former  charm,  and  was  nothing  but  a 
haunted  house  of  desolation, — haunted  by  an  all-dominant 
and  ever  victorious  Spirit  of  Evil. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  319 


XXVIII 

One  of  the  strangest  things  in  all  the  strange  course  of  our 
human  life  is  perhaps  the  suddenness  of  certain  unlooked-for 
events,  which,  in  a  day  or  even  an  hour,  may  work  utter  devas- 
tation where  there  has  been  more  or  less  peace,  and  hopeless 
ruin  where  there  has  been  comparative  safety.  Like  the  shock 
of  an  earthquake,  the  clamorous  incidents  thunder  in  on  the 
regular  routine  of  ordinary  life,  crumbling  down  our  hopes, 
breaking  our  hearts,  and  scattering  our  pleasures  into  the  dust 
and  ashes  of  despair.  And  this  kind  of  destructive  trouble 
generally  happens  in  the  midst  of  apparent  prosperity  without 
the  least  warning,  and  with  all  the  abrupt  fierceness  of  a  desert- 
storm.  It  is  constantly  made  manifest  to  us  in  the  unexpected 
and  almost  instantaneous  downfall  of  certain  members  of 
society  who  have  held  their  heads  proudly  above  their  com- 
peers and  have  presumed  to  pose  as  examples  of  light  and 
leading  to  the  whole  community ;  we  see  it  in  the  capricious 
fortunes  of  kings  and  statesmen  who  are  in  favour  one  day 
and  disgraced  the  next,  and  vast  changes  are  wrought  with 
such  inexplicable  quickness  that  it  is  scarcely  wonderful  to 
hear  of  certain  religious  sects  who,  when  everything  is  pros- 
pering more  than  usually  well  with  them,  make  haste  to  put 
on  garments  of  sackcloth  and  cast  ashes  on  their  heads,  praying 
aloud,  *' Prepare  us,  O  Lord,  for  the  evil  days  which  are  at 
hand!"  The  moderation  of  the  Stoics,  who  considered  it 
impious  to  either  rejoice  or  grieve,  and  strove  to  maintain  an 
equable  middle  course  between  the  opposing  elements  of  sorrow 
and  joy,  without  allowing  themselves  to  be  led  away  by  over- 
much delight  or  over-much  melancholy,  was  surely  a  wise  habit 
of  temperament.  I,  who  lived  miserably  as  far  as  my  inner 
and  better  consciousness  was  concerned,  was  yet  outwardly 
satisfied  with  the  material  things  of  life  and  the  luxuries  sur- 
rounding me, — and  I  began  to  take  comfort  in  these  things, 


320  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

and  with  them  endeavoured  to  quell  and  ignore  my  subtle 
griefs,  succeeding  so  far  in  that  I  became  more  and  more  of  a 
thorough  materialist  every  day,  loving  bodily  ease,  appetizing 
food,  costly  wine  and  personal  indulgence  to  a  degree  that 
robbed  me  gradually  of  even  the  desire  for  mental  effort.  I 
taught  myself,  moreover,  almost  insensibly  to  accept  and 
tolerate  what  I  knew  of  the  wanton  side  of  my  wife's  character, 
— true,  I  respected  her  less  than  the  Turk  respects  the  creature 
of  his  harem, — but  like  the  Turk  I  took  a  certain  savage  satis- 
faction in  being  the  possessor  of  her  beauty ;  and  with  this 
feeling  and  the  brute  passion  it  engendered,  I  was  fain  to  be 
content.  So  that  for  a  short  time  at  least,  the  drowsy  satis- 
faction of  a  well-fed,  well-mated  animal  was  mine, — I  fancied 
that  nothing  short  of  a  stupendous  financial  catastrophe  to  the 
country  itself  could  exhaust  my  stock  of  cash, — and  that 
therefore  there  was  no  necessity  for  me  to  exert  myself  in  any 
particular  branch  of  usefulness,  but  simply  to  *  eat,  drink  and 
be  merry'  as  Solomon  advised.  Intellectual  activity  was  para- 
lyzed in  me, — to  take  up  my  pen  and  write,  and  make  another 
and  higher  bid  for  fame,  was  an  idea  that  now  never  entered 
my  mind  ;  I  spent  my  days  in  ordering  about  my  servants  and 
practising  the  petty  pleasures  of  tyranny  on  gardeners  and 
grooms,  and  in  generally  giving  myself  airs  of  importance 
mingled  with  an  assumption  of  toleration  and  benevolence 
for  the  benefit  of  all  those  in  my  employ.  I  knew  the  proper 
thing  to  do,  well  enough  ! — I  had  not  studied  the  ways  of 
the  over-wealthy  for  nothing.  I  was  aware  that  the  rich  man 
never  feels  so  thoroughly  virtuous  as  when  he  has  inquired 
after  the  health  of  his  coachman's  wife  and  has  sent  her  a 
couple  of  pounds  for  the  outfit  of  her  new-born  baby.  The 
much-prated-of  '  kindness  of  heart'  and  '  generosity'  possessed 
by  millionaires  generally  amounts  to  this  kind  of  thing, — and 
when,  if  idly  strolling  about  my  park-lands,  I  happened  to 
meet  the  small  child  of  my  lodge-keeper  and  then  and 
there  bestowed  sixpence  upon  it,  I  almost  felt  as  if  I  de- 
served a  throne  in  Heaven  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Almighty, 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  321 

so  great  was  my  appreciation  of  my  own  good-nature. 
Sibyl,  however,  never  affected  this  sort  of  county-magnate 
beneficence.  She  did  nothing  at  all  among  our  poor 
neighbours ; — the  clergyman  of  the  district  unfortunately 
happened  to  let  slip  one  day  a  few  words  to  the  effect  that 
''there  was  no  great  want  of  anything  among  his  parish- 
ioners, owing  to  the  continual  kindness  and  attention  of  Miss 
Clare," — and  Sibyl  never  from  that  moment  proffered  any 
assistance.  Now  and  then  she  took  her  graceful  person  into 
'  Lily  Cottage'  and  sat  with  its  happy  and  studious  occupant 
for  an  hour, — and  occasionally  the  fair  author  herself  came 
and  dined  with  us,  or  had  '  afternoon  tea'  under  the  branching 
elms  on  the  lawn, — but  even  I,  intense  egotist  as  I  was,  could 
see  that  Mavis  was  scarcely  herself  on  these  occasions.  She 
was  always  charming  and  bright  of  course, — indeed  the  only 
times  in  which  I  was  able  to  partially  forget  myself  and  the 
absurdly  increasing  importance  of  my  personality  in  my  own 
esteem,  were  when  she,  with  her  sweet  voice  and  animated 
manner,  brought  her  wide  knowledge  of  books,  men,  and 
things  to  bear  on  the  conversation,  thus  raising  it  to  a  higher 
level  than  was  ever  reached  by  my  wife  or  me.  Yet  I  now 
and  then  noticed  a  certain  vague  constraint  about  her, — and 
her  frank  eyes  had  frequently  a  pained  and  questioning  look 
of  trouble  when  they  rested  for  any  length  of  time  on  the 
enchanting  beauty  of  Sibyl's  face  and  form.  I,  however,  paid 
little  heed  to  these  trifling  matters,  my  whole  care  being  to 
lose  myself  more  and  more  utterly  in  the  enjoyment  of  purely 
physical  ease  and  comfort  without  troubling  myself  as  to  what 
such  self-absorption  might  lead  in  the  future.  To  be  com- 
pletely without  a  conscience,  without  a  heart  and  without 
sentiment  was,  I  perceived,  the  best  way  to  keep  one's  appetite 
and  preserve  one's  health; — to  go  about  worrying  over  the 
troubles  of  other  people  or  put  one's  self  out  to  do  any  good 
in  the  world,  would  involve  such  an  expenditure  of  time  and 
trouble  as  must  inevitably  spoil  one's  digestion, — and  I  saw 
that  no  millionaire  or  even  moderately  rich  man  cares  to  run 


322  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

the  risk  of  injuring  his  digestion  for  the  sake  of  performing 
a  kindness  to  a  poorer  fellow-creature.  Profiting  by  the 
examples  presented  to  me  everywhere  in  society,  I  took  care 
of  my  digestion,  and  was  particular  about  the  way  in  which 
my  meals  were  cooked  and  served, — particular  too,  as  to  the 
fashion  in  which  my  wife  dressed  for  those  meals, — for  it 
suited  my  supreme  humour  to  sse  her  beauty  bedecked  as 
suitably  and  richly  as  possible  that  I  might  have  the  satis- 
faction of  considering  her  '  points'  with  the  same  epicurean 
fastidiousness  as  I  considered  a  dish  of  truffles  or  specially 
prepared  game.  I  never  thought  of  the  stern  and  absolute 
law — ''Unto  whom  much  is  given,  even  from  him  should 
much  be  required ;" — I  was  scarcely  aware  of  it  in  fact, — the 
New  Testament  was  of  all  books  in  the  world  the  most  un- 
familiar to  me.  And  while  I  wilfully  deafened  myself  to  the 
voice  of  conscience, — that  voice  which  ever  and  anon  urged 
me  in  vain  to  a  nobler  existence, — the  clouds  were  gathering, 
ready  to  burst  above  me  with  that  terrific  suddenness  such  as 
always  seems  to  us  who  refuse  to  study  the  causes  of  our 
calamities,  as  astonishing  and  startling  as  death  itself.  For 
we  are  always  more  or  less  startled  at  death,  notwithstanding 
that  it  is  the  commonest  occurrence  known. 

Towards  the  middle  of  September  my  '  royal  and  distin- 
guished' house-party  arrived  and  stayed  at  Willowsmere  Court 
for  a  week.  Of  course  it  is  understood  that  whenever  the 
Prince  of  Wales  honours  any  private  residence  with  a  visit, 
he  selects,  if  not  all,  at  any  rate  the  greater  part  of  those 
persons  who  are  to  be  invited  to  meet  him.  He  did  so  in 
the  present  instance,  and  I  was  placed  in  the  odd  position 
of  having  to  entertain  certain  people  whom  I  had  never  met 
before,  and  who,  with  the  questionable  taste  frequently  ex- 
hibited among  the  'upper  ten,'  looked  upon  me  merely  as 
"the  man  with  the  millions,"  the  caterer  for  their  provisions 
and  no  more, — directing  their  chief  attention  to  Sibyl,  who 
was  by  virtue  of  her  birth  and  associations  one  of  their  'set,' 
and  pushing  me,  their  host,  more  or  less  into  the  background. 


THE    SORROWS  OF  SATAN  323 

However,  the  glory  of  entertaining  Royalty  more  than  sufficed 
for  my  poor  pride  at  that  time,  and  with  less  self-respect  than 
an  honest  cur  I  was  content  to  be  snubbed  and  harassed  and 
worried  a  hundred  times  a  day  by  one  or  the  other  of  the 
'  great'  personages  who  wandered  at  will  all  over  my  house 
and  grounds,  and  accepted  my  lavish  hospitality.  Many 
people  imagine  that  it  must  be  an  '  honour'  to  entertain  a 
select  party  of  aristocrats,  but  I,  on  the  contrary,  consider 
that  it  is  not  only  a  degradation  to  one's  manlier  and  more 
independent  instincts,  but  also  a  bore.  These  highly-bred, 
highly-connected  individuals,  are  for  the  most  part  unintelli- 
gent and  devoid  of  resources  in  their  own  minds, — they  are 
not  gifted  as  conversationalists  or  wits, — one  gains  no  intel- 
lectual advantage  from  their  society, — they  are  simply  dull 
folk  with  an  exaggerated  sense  of  their  own  importance,  who 
expect,  wherever  they  go,  to  be  amused  without  trouble  to 
themselves.  Out  of  all  the  visitors  at  Willowsmere  the  only 
one  whom  it  was  really  a  pleasure  to  entertain  was  the  Prince 
of  Wales  himself, — and  amid  the  many  personal  irritations  I 
had  to  suffer  from  others,  I  found  it  a  positive  relief  to  render 
him  any  attention,  however  slight,  because  his  manner  was 
always  marked  by  that  tact  and  courtesy  which  are  the  best 
attributes  of  a  true  gentleman  whether  he  be  prince  or  peasant. 
In  his  own  genial  way,  he  went  one  afternoon  to  see  Mavis 
Clare,  and  came  back  in  high  good-humour,  talking  for  some 
time  of  nothing  but  the  author  of  ^Differences,'  and  of  the 
success  she  had  achieved  in  literature.  I  had  asked  Mavis  to 
join  our  party  before  the  Prince  came,  as  I  felt  pretty  sure  he 
would  not  have  erased  her  name  from  the  list  of  guests  sub- 
mitted to  him, — but  she  would  not  accept,  and  begged  me 
very  earnestly  not  to  press  the  point. 

'*  I  like  the  Prince,"  she  had  said.  "  Everybody  likes  him 
who  knows  him, — but  I  do  not  always  like  the  people  who 
surround  him, — pardon  me  for  my  frankness  !  The  Prince 
of  Wales  is  a  social  magnet, — he  draws  after  him  all  who  by 
dint  of  wealth  if  not  intelligence  can  contrive  to  '  push'  into 


324  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

his  set.  Now  I  am  not  an  advocate  of  '  push' — moreover  I 
do  not  care  to  be  seen  with  'everybody'  ; — this  is  my  sinful 
pride  you  will  say,  or  as  our  American  cousins  would  put  it, 
my  '  cussedness. '  But  I  assure  you,  Mr  Tempest,  the  best 
possession  I  have  and  one  which  I  value  a  great  deal  more 
even  than  my  literary  success,  is  my  absolute  independence, 
and  I  would  not  have  it  thought,  even  erroneously,  that  I  ain 
anxious  to  mix  wiih  the  crowd  of  sycophants  and  time-servers 
who  are  only  too  ready  to  take  advantage  of  the  Prince's  good- 
nature." 

And,  acting  upon  her  determination,  she  had  remained 
more  than  ever  secluded  in  her  cottage-nest  of  foliage  and 
flowers  during  the  progress  of  the  week's  festivities, — the 
result  being,  as  I  have  stated,  that  the  Prince  *  dropped  in' 
upon  her  quite  casually  one  day,  accompanied  by  his  equerry, 
and  probably,  for  all  I  knew,  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
dove  '  reviewers'  being  fed,  and  squabbling  over  their  meal. 

Much  as  we  had  desiied  the  presence  of  Rimanez  at  our 
gathering  he  did  not  appear.  He  telegraphed  his  regrets 
from  Paris,  and  followed  the  telegram  by  a  characteristic 
letter  which  ran  thus  : 

My  dear  Tempest, 

You  are  very  kind  to  wish  to  include  me,  your  old 
friend,  in  the  party  you  have  invited  to  meet  His  Royal  High- 
ness, and  I  only  hope  you  will  not  think  me  churlish  for 
refusing  to  come.  I  am  sick  to  death  of  Royalties, — I  have 
known  so  many  of  them  in  the  course  of  my  existence  that  I 
begin  to  find  their  society  monotonous.  Their  positions  are 
all  so  e^xactly  alike  too, — and  moreover  have  always  been  alike 
from  the  days  of  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  down  to  the  present 
blessed  era  of  Victoria,  Queen  and  Empress.  One  thirsts  for 
a  change  ;  at  least  I  do.  The  only  monarch  that  ever  fasci- 
nated my  imagination  particularly  was  Richard  Coeur  deLion  ; 
there  was  something  original  and  striking  about  that  man,  and 
I  presume  he  would  have  been  well  worth  talking  to.     And 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  325 

Charlemagne  was  doubtless,  as  the  slangey  young  man  of  the 
day  would  observe,  *  not  half  bad.'  But  for  the  rest, — luifico  ! 
Much  talk  is  there  made  about  Her  Majesty  Elizabeth,  who 
was  a  shrew  and  a  vixen  and  blood-thirsty  withal, — the  chief 
glory  of  her  reign  was  Shakespeare,  and  he  made  kings  and 
queens  the  dancing  puppets  of  his  thought.  In  this,  though 
in  nothing  else,  I  resemble  him.  You  will  have  enough  to  do 
in  the  entertainment  of  your  distinguished  guests,  for  I  suppo  e 
there  is  no  amusement  they  have  not  tried  and  found  more  or 
less  unsatisfactory,  and  I  am  sorry  I  can  suggest  nothing  par- 
ticularly new  for  you  to  do.  Her  Grace  the  Duchess  of 
Rapidryder  is  very  fond  of  being  tossed  in  a  strong  table-cloth 
between  four  able-bodied  gentlemen  of  good  birth  and  dis- 
cretion, before  going  to  bed  o'  nights, — she  cannot  very  well 
appear  on  a  music-hall  stage  you  know,  owing  to  her  exalted 
rank, — and  this  is  a  child-like,  pretty  and  harmless  method 
of  managing  to  show  her  legs,  which  she  rightly  considers,  are 
too  shapely  to  be  hidden.  Lady  Bouncer,  whose  name  I  see 
in  your  list,  always  likes  to  cheat  at  cards, — I  would  aid  and 
abet  her  in  her  aim  if  I  were  you,  as  if  she  can  only  clear  her 
dressmaker's  bill  by  her  winnings  at  Willowsmere,  she  will 
bear  it  in  mind  and  be  a  useful  social  friend  to  you.  The 
Honourable  Miss  Fitz-Gander,  who  has  a  great  reputation  for 
virtue,  is  anxious,  for  pressing  and  particular  reasons,  to  marry 
Lord  Noodles, — if  you  can  move  on  matters  between  them 
into  a  definite  engagement  of  marriage  before  her  lady-mother 
returns  from  her  duty-visits  in  Scotland,  you  will  be  doing  her 
a  good  turn  and  saving  society  a  scandal.  To  amuse  the  men 
I  suggest  plenty  of  shooting,  gambling  and  unlimited  smoking. 
To  entertain  the  Prince,  do  little, — for  he  is  clever  enough 
to  entertain  himself  privately  with  the  folly  and  humbug  of 
those  he  sees  around  him,  without  actually  sharing  in  the 
petty  comedy.  He  is  a  keen  observer, — and  must  derive 
infinite  gratification  from  his  constant  study  of  men  and 
manners,  which  is  sufficiently  deep  and  searching  to  fit  him 
for  the  occupation  of  even   the   throne  of  England.     I  say 

28 


326  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

*even,'  for  at  present,  till  Time's  great  hour-glass  turns,  it  is 
the  grandest  throne  in  the  world.  The  Prince  reads,  under- 
stands, and  secretly  laughs  to  scorn  the  table-cloth  vagaries  of 
the  Duchess  of  Rapidryder,  the  humours  of  my  Lady  Bouncer 
and  the  nervous  pruderies  of  the  Honourable  Miss  Fitz-Gan- 
der.  And  there  is  nothing  he  will  appreciate  so  much  in  his 
reception  as  a  lack  of  toadyism,  a  sincere  demeanour,  an  un- 
ostentatious hospitality,  a  simplicity  of  speech,  and  a  total 
absence  of  affectation.  Remember  this,  and  take  my  advice 
for  what  it  is  worth.  Of  all  the  Royalties  at  present  flourish- 
ing on  this  paltry  planet,  I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  it  is  by  reason  of  this  very  respect  that 
I  do  not  intend,  on  this  occasion,  to  thrust  myself  upon  his 
notice.  I  shall  arrive  at  W^illowsmere  when  your  *  royal' 
festivities  are  over.  My  homage  to  your  fair  spouse,  the  Lady 
Sibyl,  and  believe  me, 

Yours  as  long  as  you  desire  it, 

Lucio  Rlmanez. 

I  laughed  over  this  letter  and  showed  it  to  my  wife,  who 
did  not  laugh.  She  read  it  through  with  a  closeness  of  atten- 
tion that  somewhat  surprised  me,  and  when  she  laid  it  down 
there  was  a  strange  look  of  pain  in  her  eyes. 

''  How  he  despises  us  all !"  she  said  slowly.  '^  What  scorn 
underlies  his  words !     Do  you  not  recognise  it?" 

'*He  was  always  a  cynic,"  I  replied  indifferently.  ''I 
never  expect  him  to  be  anything  else." 

"  He  seems  to  know  some  of  the  ways  of  the  women  who 
are  coming  here,"  she  went  on  in  the  same  musing  accents. 
"  It  is  as  if  he  read  their  thoughts,  and  perceived  their 
intentions  at  a  distance." 

Her  brows  knitted  frowningly,  and  she  seemed  for  some 
time  absorbed  in  gloomy  meditation.  But  I  did  not  pursue 
the  subject, — I  was  too  intent  on  my  own  fussy  preparations 
for  the  Prince's  arrival  to  care  about  anything  else. 

And,  as  I  have  said,  Royalty,  in  the  person  of  one  of  the 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


327 


most  affable  of  men,  came  and  went  gracefully  through  the 
whole  programme  devised  for  his  entertainment,  and  then 
departed  again  with  his  usual  courteous  acknowledgments  for 
the  hospitality  offered  and  accepted, — leaving  us,  as  he  very 
often  leaves  everybody,  charmed  with  his  good-humour,  pro- 
vided that  nothing  has  ruffled  it.  When,  with  his  exit  from 
the  scene,  the  whole  party  broke  up,  leaving  my  wife  and  me 
to  our  own  two  selves  once  more,  there  came  a  strange  silence 
and  desolation  over  the  house  that  was  like  the  stealthy  sense 
of  some  approaching  calamity.  Sibyl  seemed  to  feel  it  as 
much  as  I  did,  and  though  we  said  nothing  to  each  other 
concerning  our  mutual  sensations,  I  could  see  that  she  was 
under  the  same  cloud  of  depression  as  myself.  She  went 
oftener  to  '  Lily  Cottage,'  and  always  from  these  visits  to  the 
fair-haired  student  among  the  roses,  came  back,  I  hopefully- 
fancied  in  softer  mood, — her  very  voice  was  gentler, — her 
eyes  more  thoughtful  and  tender.     One  evening  she  said — 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Geoffrey,  that  perhaps  there  is  some 
good  in  life  after  all,  if  I  could  only  find  it  out  and  live  it. 
But  you  are  the  last  person  to  help  me  in  such  a  matter." 

I  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  near  the  open  window,  smok- 
ing, and  I  turned  my  eyes  upon  her  with  some  astonishment 
and  a  touch  of  indignation. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sibyl  ?"  I  asked.  ^'  Surely  you  know 
that  I  have  the  greatest  desire  to  see  you  always  in  your  best 
aspect, — many  of  your  ideas  have  been  most  repugnant  to 
me  ..." 

"Stop  there!"  she  said  quickly,  her  eyes  flashing  as  she 
spoke.  "My  ideas  have  been  repugnant  to  you,  you  say? 
What  have  you  done,  you  as  my  husband,  to  change  those 
ideas?  Have  you  not  the  same  base  passions  as  I? — and 
do  you  not  give  way  to  them  as  basely  ?  What  have  I  seen 
in  you  from  day  to  day  that  I  should  take  you  as  an  ex- 
ample? You  are  master  here,  and  you  rule  with  all  the 
arrogance  wealth  can  give, — you  eat,  drink  and  sleep, — you 
entertain  your  acquaintances  simply  that  you  may  astonish 


328  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

them  by  the  excess  of  hixury  in  which  you  indulge, — you 
read  and  smoke,  shoot  and  ride,  and  there  an  end, — you  are 
an  ordinary,  not  an  exceptional  man.  Do  you  trouble  to 
ask  what  is  wrong  with  me  ? — do  you  try,  with  the  patience 
of  a  great  love,  to  set  before  me  nobler  aims  than  those  I 
have  consciously  or  unconsciously  imbibed? — do  you  try  to 
lead  me,  an  erring,  passionate,  misguided  woman,  into  what 
I  dream  of  as  the  light, — the  light  of  faith  and  hope  which 
alone  gives  peace  ?' ' 

And  suddenly,  burying  her  head  in  the  pillows  of  the 
couch  on  which  she  leaned,  she  broke  into  a  fit  of  smothered 
weeping. 

I  drew  my  cigar  from  my  mouth  and  stared  at  her  helplessly. 
It  was  about  an  hour  after  dinner,  and  a  warm  soft  autumnal 
evening.  I  had  eaten  and  drunk  well,  and  I  was  drowsy  and 
heavy-brained. 

**Dear  me  !"  I  murmured — ''you  seem  very  unreasonable, 
Sibyl !     I  suppose  you  are  hysterical  .    .   ." 

She  sprang  up  from  the  couch,  her  tears  dried  on  her 
cheeks  as  though  by  sheer  heat  of  the  crimson  glow  that 
flushed  them,  and  she  laughed  wildly. 

"Yes,  that  is  it!"  she  exclaimed.  "Hysteria! — nothing 
else  !  It  is  accountable  for  everything  that  moves  a  woman's 
nature.  A  woman  has  no  right  to  have  any  emotions  that 
cannot  be  cured  by  smelling-salts  I  Heart-ache  ? — pooh  ! — 
cut  her  stay-lace  !  Despair  and  a  sense  of  sin  and  misery  ? — 
nonsense  ! — bathe  her  temples  with  vinegar  !  An  uneasy  con- 
science ?— ah  ! — for  an  uneasy  conscience  there  is  nothing 
better  than  sal  volatile  !  Woman  is  a  toy, — a  breakable 
fool's  toy; — and  when  she  is  broken,  throw  her  aside  and 
have  done  with  her, — don't  try  to  piece  together  the  fragile 
rubbish!" 

She  ceased  abruptly,  panting  for  breath,  and  before  I  could 
collect  my  thoughts  or  find  any  words  wherewith  to  reply,  a 
tall  shadow  suddenly  darkened  the  embrasure  of  the  window, 
and  a  familiar  voice  inquired — 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  329 

''May  I,  with  the  privilege  of  friendship,  enter  unan- 
nounced ?" 

I  started  up. 

"  Rimanez  !"  I  cried,  seizing  him  by  the  hand. 

"Nay,  Geoffrey,  my  homage  is  due  here  first,"  he  replied, 
shaking  off  my  grasp,  and  advancing  to  Sibyl,  who  stood  per- 
fectly still  where  she  had  risen  up  in  her  strange  passion. 
"Lady  Sibyl,  am  I  welcome?" 

"  Can  you  ask  it !"  she  said,  with  an  enchanting  smile,  and 
in  a  voice  from  which  all  harshness  and  excitement  had  fled. 
"  More  than  welcome  !"  Here  she  gave  him  both  her  hands, 
which  he  respectfully  kissed.  "You  cannot  imagine  how 
much  I  have  longed  to  see  you  again  ! ' ' 

"I  must  apologize  for  my  sudden  appearance,  Geoffrey," 
he  then  observed,  turning  to  me.  "But  as  I  walked  here 
from  the  station  and  came  up  your  fine  avenue  of  trees,  I  was 
so  struck  with  the  loveliness  of  this  place  and  the  exquisite 
peace  of  its  surroundings,  that,  knowing  my  way  through  the 
grounds,  I  thought  I  would  just  look  about  and  see  if  you 
were  anywhere  within  sight  before  I  presented  myself  at  the 
conventional  door  of  entrance.  And  I  was  not  disappointed, 
— I  found  you,  as  I  expected,  enjoying  each  other's  society, — 
the  happiest  and  most  fortunate  couple  existent, — people 
whom,  out  of  all  the  world,  I  should  be  disposed  to  envy,  if  I 
envied  worldly  happiness  at  all,  which  I  do  not." 

I  glanced  at  him  quickly  ;— he  met  my  gaze  with  a  perfectly 
unembarrassed  air,  and  I  concluded  that  he  had  not  overheard 
Sibyl's  sudden  melodramatic  outburst. 

"Have  you  dined?"  I  asked,  with  my  hand  on  the 
bell. 

"Thanks,  yes.  The  town  of  Leamington  provided  me  with 
quite  a  sumptuous  repast  of  bread  and  cheese  and  ale.  I  am 
tired  of  luxuries  you  know, — that  is  why  I  find  plain  fare  de- 
licious. You  are  looking  wonderfully  well,  Geoffrey  ! — shall 
I  offend  you  if  I  say  you  are  growing — yes — positively  stout? 
— with  the  stoutness  befitting  a  true  county  gentleman  who 

28* 


330  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

means  to  be  as  gouty  in  the  future  as  his  respectable  ances- 
tors?" 

I  smiled,  but  not  altogether  with  pleasure;  it  is  never  agree- 
able to  be  called  '  stout'  in  the  presence  of  a  beautiful  woman 
to  whom  one  has  only  been  wedded  a  matter  of  three  months. 

''You  have  not  put  on  any  extra  flesh,"  I  said,  by  way  of 
feeble  retort. 

"No,"  he  admitted,  as  he  disposed  his  slim  elegant  figure 
in  an  arm-chair  near  my  own.  "The  necessary  quantity  of 
flesh  is  a  bore  to  me  always, — extra  flesh  would  be  a  positive 
infliction.  I  should  like,  as  the  irreverent  tliough  reverend 
Sidney  Smith  said  on  a  hot  day,  'to  sit  in  my  bones,'  or 
rather,  to  become  a  spirit  of  fine  essence  like  Shakespeare's 
Ariel,  if  such  things  were  possible  and  permissible.  How 
admirably  married  life  agrees  with,  you,  Lady  Sibyl !" 

His  fine  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  apparent  admiration, — 
she  flushed  under  his  gaze  I  saw,  and  seemed  confused. 

"When  did  you  arrive  in  England?"  she  inquired. 

"Yesterday,"  he  answered.  "I  ran  over  Channel  from 
Honfleur  in  my  yacht, — you  did  not  know  I  had  a  yacht, 
did  you.  Tempest  ? — oh,  you  must  come  for  a  trip  in  her 
some  day.     She  is  a  quick  vessel,  and  the  weather  was  fair." 

"Is  Amiel  with  you?"  I  asked. 

"  No.  I  left  him  on  board  the  yacht.  I  can,  as  the  com- 
mon people  say,  'valet  myself  for  a  day  or  two." 

"A  day  or  two?"  echoed  Sibyl.  "But  you  surely  will 
not  leave  us  so  soon  ?  You  promised  to  make  a  long  visit 
here." 

"  Did  I?"  and  he  regarded  her  steadily,  with  the  same  lan- 
guorous admiration  in  his  eyes.  "  But,  my  dear  Lady  Sibyl, 
time  alters  our  ideas,  and  I  am  not  sure  whether  you  and  your 
excellent  husband  are  of  the  same  opinion  as  you  were 
when  you  started  on  your  wedding-tour.  You  may  not  want 
me  now  !" 

He  said  this  wilh  a  significance  to  which  I  paid  no  heed 
whatever. 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  331 

*'  Not  want  you  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  I  shall  always  want  you, 
Lucio, — you  are  the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  and  the  only 
one  I  care  to  keep.  Believe  me  ! — there's  my  hand  upon 
it!" 

He  looked  at  me  curiously  for  a  minute, — then  turned  his 
head  towards  my  wife. 

''And  what  does  Lady  Sibyl  say?"  he  asked  in  a  gentle, 
almost  caressing  tone. 

''Lady  Sibyl  says,"  she  answered  with  a  smile,  and  the 
colour  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks,  "  that  she  will  be 
proud  and  glad  if  you  will  consider  Willowsmere  your  home 
as  long  as  you  have  leisure  to  make  it  so, — and  that  she 
hopes, — though  you  are  reputed  to  be  a  hater  of  women," — 
here  she  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  and  fixed  them  full  upon 
him, — "you  will  relent  a  little  in  favour  of  your  present 
chatelaine  1" 

With  these  words,  and  a  playful  salutation,  she  passed  out 
of  the  room  into  the  garden,  and  stood  on  the  lawn  at  a 
little  distance  from  us,  her  white  robes  shimmering  in  the 
mellow  autumnal  twilight, — and  Lucio,  springing  up  from  his 
seat,  looked  after  her,  clapping  his  hand  down  heavily  on  my 
shoulder. 

"By  Heaven!"  he  said  softly,  "a  perfect  woman!  I 
should  be  a  churl  to  withstand  her, — or  you,  my  good  Geof- 
frey,"—and  he  regarded  me  earnestly.  "  I  have  led  a  very 
devil  of  a  life  since  I  saw  you  last, — it's  time  I  reformed, — 
upon  my  soul  it  is  !  The  peaceful  contemplation  of  virtuous 
marriage  will  do  me  good; — send  for  my  luggage  to  the  sta- 
tion, Geoffrey,  and  make  the  best  of  me, — I've  come  to  stay  f 


332  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


XXIX 

A  TRANQUIL  time  now  ensued  ;  a  time  which,  though  I 
knew  it  not,  was  just  that  singular  pause  so  frequently  observed 
in  nature  before  a  storm,  and  in  human  life  before  a  crush- 
ing calamity.  I  put  aside  all  troublesome  and  harassing 
thoughts,  and  became  oblivious  of  everything  save  my  own 
personal  satisfaction  in  the  renewal  of  the  comradeship  be- 
tween myself  and  Lucio.  We  walked  together,  rode  together, 
and  passed  most  of  our  days  in  each  other's  company ;  never- 
theless, though  I  gave  my  friend  much  of  my  closest  confi- 
dence I  never  spoke  to  him  of  the  moral  obliquities  and  per- 
versions I  had  discovered  in  Sibyl's  character, — not  out  of  any 
consideration  for  Sibyl,  but  simply  because  I  knew  by  instinct 
what  his  reply  would  be.  He  would  have  no  sympathy  with 
my  feelings.  His  keen  sense  of  sarcasm  would  over-rule  his 
friendship,  and  he  would  retort  upon  me  with  the  question, 
What  business  had  I,  being  imperfect  myself,  to  expect  per- 
fection in  my  wife  ?  Like  many  others  of  my  sex  I  had  tlie 
notion  that  I,  as  man,  could  do  all  I  pleased,  when  I  pleased 
and  how  I  pleased ;  I  could  sink  to  a  level  lower  than  that  of 
the  beasts  if  I  chose, — but  all  the  same  I  had  the  right  to  de- 
mand from  my  wife  the  most  flawless  purity,  to  mate  with  my 
defilement.  I  was  aware  how  Lucio  would  treat  this  form  of 
arrogant  egoism,  and  with  what  mocking  laughter  he  would 
receive  any  expression  of  ideas  from  me  on  the  subject  of  mo- 
lality in  woman.  So  I  was  careful  to  let  no  hint  of  my  actual 
l)Osition  escape  me,  and  I  comported  myself  on  all  occasions 
to  Sibyl  with  special  tenderness  and  consideration,  though 
she,  I  thought,  appeared  rather  to  resent  my  playing  the  part 
of  lover-husband  too  openly.  She  was  herself,  in  Lucio's 
presence,  strangely  erratic  of  humour,  by  turns  brilliant  and 
mournful,  sometimes  merry,  and  anon  depressed  :  yet  never 
had  she  displayed  a  more  captivating  grace  and  charm  of 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  2>^^ 

manner.  How  foolish  and  blind  I  was  all  the  while  ! — how 
dead  to  any  perception  of  the  formation  and  sequence  of 
events  !  Absorbed  in  gross  material  pleasures,  I  ignored  all 
the  hidden  forces  that  make  the  history  of  an  individual  life 
no  less  than  of  a  whole  nation,  and  looked  upon  each  day 
that  dawned  almost  as  if  it  had  been  my  own  creation  and 
possession,  to  waste  as  I  thought  fit, — never  considering  that 
days  are  but  so  many  white  leaflets  from  God's  chronicle  of 
human  life,  whereon  we  place  our  mark,  good  or  bad,  for  the 
just  and  exact  summing-up  of  our  thoughts  and  deeds  here- 
after. Had  any  one  dared  to  say  this  truth  to  me  then,  I 
should  have  bade  him  go  and  preach  nonsense  to  children, — 
but  now,  when  I  recall  those  white  leaves  of  days  that  were 
unrolled  before  me  fresh  and  blank  with  every  sunrise,  and 
with  which  I  did  nothing  save  scrawl  my  own  Ego  in  a  foul 
smudge  across  each  one,  I  tremble,  and  inwardly  pray  that  I 
may  never  be  forced  to  send  back  my  self-written  record. 
Yet  of  what  use  is  it  to  pray  against  eternal  Law  ?  It  is 
eternal  Law  that  we  shall  ourselves  count  up  our  own  mis- 
deeds at  the  final  reckoning, — hence  it  is  no  wonder  that 
many  are  found  who  prefer  not  to  believe  in  a  future  after 
death.  Rightly  do  such  esteem  it  better  to  die  utterly  than 
be  forced  to  live  again  and  look  back  upon  the  wilful  evil  they 
have  done  ! 

October  ripened  slowly  and  almost  imperceptibly  towards 
its  end,  and  the  trees  put  on  their  gorgeous  autumnal  tints  of 
burning  crimson  and  gold.  The  weather  remained  fine  and 
warm,  and  what  the  French  Canadians  poetically  term  the 
'  Summer  of  all  Saints'  gave  us  bright  days  and  cloudless 
moonlit  evenings.  The  air  was  so  mild  that  we  were  always 
able  to  take  our  coffee  after  dinner  on  the  terrace  overlooking 
the  lawn  in  front  of  the  drawing-room, — and  it  was  on  one 
of  these  balmy  nights  that  I  was  the  interested  spectator  of  a 
strange  scene  between  Lucio  and  Mavis  Clare, — a  scene  I 
should  have  thought  impossible  of  occurrence  had  I  not  my- 
self witnessed  it.     Mavis  had  dined  at  Willowsmere ;  she  very 


334  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

rarely  so  honoured  us  ;  and  there  were  a  few  other  guests 
besides.  We  had  lingered  over  the  coffee  longer  than  usual, 
for  Mavis  had  given  an  extra  charm  to  the  conversation  by  her 
eloquent  vivacity  and  bright  humour,  and  all  present  were 
anxious  to  hear,  see  and  know  as  much  of  the  brilliant  nov- 
elist as  possible.  But  when  a  full  golden  moon  rose  in  mellow 
splendour  over  the  tree-tops,  my  wife  suggested  a  stroll  in  the 
grounds,  and  everyone  agreeing  to  the  proposal  with  delight, 
we  started, — more  or  less  together, — some  in  couples,  some 
in  groups  of  three  or  four.  After  a  little  desultory  rambling, 
however,  the  party  got  separated  in  the  rose-gardens  and  adja- 
cent shrubberies,  and  I  found  myself  alone.  I  turned  back  to 
the  house  to  get  my  cigar-case  which  I  had  left  on  a  table  in 
the  library,  and  passing  out  again  in  another  direction  I  strolled 
slowly  across  the  grass,  smoking  as  I  went,  towards  the  river, 
the  silver  gleam  of  which  could  clearly  be  discerned  through 
the  fast-thinning  foliage  overhanging  its  banks.  I  had  almost 
reached  the  path  that  followed  the  course  of  the  winding  water 
when  I  was  brought  to  a  standstill  by  the  sound  of  voices, — 
one  a  man's,  low  and  persuasive, — the  other  a  woman's, 
tender,  grave  and  somewhat  tremulous.  Neither  voice  could 
be  mistaken  ;  I  recognised  Lucio's  rich  penetrating  tones,  and 
the  sweet  vidfa^ite  accents  of  Mavis  Clare.  Out  of  sheer  sur- 
prise I  paused, — had  Lucio  fallen  in  love,  I  wondered,  half- 
smiling? — was  I  about  to  discover  that  the  supposed  Svoman- 
hater'  had  been  tamed  and  caught  at  last?  By  Mavis  too  ! — 
little  Mavis,  who  was  not  beautiful  according  to  accepted 
standards,  but  who  had  something  more  than  beauty  to  en- 
ravish  a  proud  and  unbelieving  soul.  Here,  as  my  thoughts 
ran  on,  I  was  conscious  of  a  foolish  sense  of  jealousy, — why 
should  he  choose  Mavis,  I  thought,  out  of  all  women  in  the 
world?  Could  he  not  leave  her  in  peace  wiih  her  dreams, 
her  books  and  her  flowers  ? — safe  under  the  pure,  wise,  im- 
passive gaze  of  Pallas  Athene,  whose  cool  brows  were  never 
fevered  by  a  touch  of  passion  ?  Something  more  than  curi- 
osity now  impelled  me  to  listen,  and  I  cautiously  advanced  a 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  335 

step  or  two  towards  the  shadow  of  a  broad  ehii  where  I  could 
see  without  being  seen.  Yes,  there  was  Rimanez,  standing- 
erect  with  folded  arms,  his  dark,  sad,  inscrutable  eyes  fixed 
on  Mavis,  who  stood  opposite  to  him  a  few  paces  off,  looking 
at  him  in  her  turn  with  an  expression  of  mingled  fascination 
and  fear. 

"  I  have  asked  you,  Mavis  Clare,"  said  Lucio  slowly,  "  to 
let  me  serve  you.  You  have  genius, — a  rare  quality  in  a 
woman, — and  I  would  advance  your  fortunes.  I  should  not 
be  what  I  am  if  I  did  not  try  to  persuade  you  to  let  me  help 
on  your  career.  You  are  not  rich, — I  could  show  you  how 
to  become  so.  You  have  a  great  fame — that  I  grant ;  but  you 
have  many  enemies  and  slanderers  who  are  for  ever  trying  to 
pull  you  down  from  the  throne  you  have  won.  I  could  bring 
these  to  your  feet  and  make  them  your  slaves.  With  your  intel- 
lectual power,  your  personal  grace  and  gifts  of  temperament,  I 
could,  if  you  would  let  me  guide  you,  give  you  such  far-reach- 
ing influence,  as  no  woman  has  possessed  in  this  century.  I 
am  no  boaster, — I  can  do  what  I  say  and  more  ;  and  I  ask 
nothing  from  you  in  return  except  that  you  should  follow  my 
advice  implicitly.  My  advice,  let  me  tell  you,  is  not  difficult 
to  follow  ;  most  people  find  it  easy  ! ' ' 

His  expression  of  face,  I  thought,  was  very  singular  as  he 
spoke, — it  was  so  haggard,  dreary  and  woe-begone  that  one 
might  have  imagined  he  was  making  some  proposal  that  was 
particularly  repugnant  to  him,  instead  of  offering  to  perform 
the  benevolent  action  of  helping  a  hard-working  literary 
woman  to  achieve  greater  wealth  and  distinction.  I  waited 
expectantly  for  Mavis  to  reply. 

''You  are  very  good.  Prince  Rimanez,"  she  said,  after  a 
little  pause,  ''  to  take  any  thought  for  me  at  all.  I  cannot 
imagine  why  you  should  do  so  ;  for  I  am  really  nothing  to 
you.  I  have  of  course  heard  from  Mr  Tempest  of  your  great 
wealth  and  influence,  and  I  have  no  doubt  you  mean  kindly. 
But  I  have  never  owed  anything  to  any  one, — no  one  has  ever 
helped  me, — I  have  helped  myself,  and  still  prefer  to  do  so. 


336  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

And  really  1  have  nothing  to  wish  for, — except — when  the  time 
comes — a  happy  death.  It  is  true  I  am  not  rich, — but  then  1 
do  not  want  to  be  rich.  I  would  not  be  the  possessor  of 
wealth  for  all  the  world  !  To  be  surrounded  with  sycophants 
and  flatterers, — never  to  be  able  to  distinguish  false  friends 
from  true, — to  be  loved  for  what  you  have,  and  not  for  what 
you  are  I — oh  no,  it  would  be  misery  to  me  !  And  I  have 
never  craved  for  power, —  except  perhaps  the  power  to  win 
love.  And  that  I  have, — many  people  love  my  books,  and 
through  my  books  love  me, — I  feel  their  love,  though  I 
may  never  see  or  know  them  personally.  But  I  am  so  con- 
scious of  their  sympathy  that  I  love  them  in  return  without 
the  necessity  of  personal  acquaintance.  They  have  hearts 
which  respond  to  my  heart, — that  is  all  the  power  I  care 
about." 

''You  forget  your  numerous  enemies!"  said  Lucio,  still 
morosely  regarding  her. 

''No,  I  do  not  forget  them,"  she  returned,  "But  I  forgive 
them.  They  can  do  me  no  harm.  As  long  as  I  do  not  lower 
myself,  no  one  else  can  lower  me.  If  my  own  conscience  is 
clear,  no  reproaches  can  wound.  My  life  is  open  to  all, — 
people  can  see  how  I  live  and  what  I  do.  I  try  to  do  well, — 
but  if  there  are  those  who  think  I  do  ill,  I  am  sorry,  and  if 
my  faults  can  be  amended  I  shall  be  glad  to  amend  them. 
Ohc  must  have  enemies  in  this  world, — that  is,  if  one  makes 
any  sort  of  position, — people  without  enemies  are  generally 
nonentities.  All  who  succeed  in  winning  some  little  place  of 
independence  must  expect  the  grudging  enmity  of  hundreds 
who  cannot  find  even  the  smallest  foothold,  and  are  therefore 
failures  in  the  battle  of  life, — I  pity  these  sincerely,  and  when 
they  say  or  write  cruel  things  of  me,  I  know  it  is  only  spleen 
and  disappointment  that  moves  both  their  tongues  and  pens, 
and  I  freely  pardon  them.  They  cannot  hurt  or  hinder  me, — 
in  fact,  no  one  can  hurt  or  hinder  me  but  myself." 

I  heard  the  trees  rustle  slightly, — a  branch  cracked, — and 
peering  through  the  leaves  I  saw  that  Lucio  had  advanced  a 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  337 

step  closer  to  where  Mavis  stood.  A  faint  smile  was  on  his 
face,  softening  it  wonderfully  and  giving  an  almost  supernat- 
ural light  to  his  beautiful  dark  features. 

"  Fair  philosopher,  you  are  almost  a  feminine  Marcus  Aure- 
lius  in  your  estimate  of  men  and  things,"  he  said;  ''but — 
you  are  still  a  woman — and  there  is  one  thing  lacking  to  your 
life  of  sublime  and  calm  contentment — a  thing  at  whose  touch 
philosophy  fails,  and  wisdom  withers  at  its  root.  Love,  Mavis 
Clare  ! — lover's  love,  devoted  love,  blindly  passionate, — this 
has  not  been  yours  as  yet  to  win.  No  heart  beats  against  your 
own, — no  tender  arms  caress  you, — you  are  alone  !  Men  are 
for  the  most  part  afraid  of  you, — being  brute  fools  themselves, 
they  like  their  women  to  be  brute  fools  also, — and  they  grudge 
you  your  keen  intellect, — your  serene  independence.  Yet 
which  is  best  ? — the  adoration  of  a  brute  fool,  or  the  loneli- 
ness pertaining  to  a  spirit  aloft  on  some  snowy  mountain-peak, 
with  no  companions  but  the  stars  ?  Think  of  it ! — the  years 
will  pass,  and  you  must  needs  grow  old, — and  with  the  years 
will  come  that  solitary  neglect  which  makes  age  bitter.  Now, 
you  will  doubtless  wonder  at  my  words — yet  believe  me  I  speak 
the  truth  when  I  say  that  I  can  give  you  love — not  my  love, 
for  I  love  none, — but  I  can  bring  to  your  feet  the  proudest 
men  in  any  country  of  the  world  as  suitors  for  your  hand. 
You  shall  have  your  choice  of  them  and  your  own  time  for 
choosing, — and  whomsoever  you  love,  him  you  shall  wed,  .  .  . 
why — what  is  wrong  with  you  that  you  shrink  from  me  thus?" 

For  she  had  retreated,  and  was  gazing  at  him  in  a  kind  of 
horror. 

''You  terrify  me  I"  she  faltered, — and  as  the  moonlight 
fell  upon  her  I  could  see  that  she  was  very  pale.  "Such 
promises  are  incredible— impossible  !  You  speak  as  if  you 
were  more  than  human  !  I  do  not  understand  you,  Prince 
Rimanez, — you  are  different  to  anyone  I  ever  met,  and  .  .  . 
and  ,  .  .  something  in  me  stronger  than  myself  warns  me 
against  you.  What  are  you  ? — why  do  you  talk  to  me  so 
strangely?      Pardon  me    if  I  seem  ungrateful  .   .   .    oh,    let 


S;^8  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

us  go  in — it  is  getting  quite  late  1  am  sure,  and  I  am 
cold  ..." 

She  trembled  violently,  and  caught  at  the  branch  of  a  tree 
to  steady  herself, — Rimanez  stood  immovably  still,  regarding 
her  with  a  fixed  and  almost  mournful  gaze. 

*' You  say  my  life  is  lonely, "  she  went  on  reluctantly,  and 
with  a  note  of  pathos  in  her  sweet  voice,  "  and  you  suggest 
love  and  marriage  as  the  only  joys  that  can  make  a  woman 
happy.  You  may  be  right.  I  do  not  presume  to  assert  that 
you  are  wrong.  I  have  many  married  women  friends — but  I 
would  not  change  my  lot  with  any  one  of  them.  I  have 
dreamed  of  love, — but  because  I  have  not  realized  my  dream 
I  am  not  the  less  content.  If  it  is  God's  will  that  I  should 
be  alone  all  my  days,  I  shall  not  murmur,  for  my  solitude 
is  not  actual  loneliness.  Work  is  a  good  comrade, — then  I 
have  books,  and  flowers  and  birds, — I  am  never  really  lonely. 
And  that  I  shall  fully  realize  my  dream  of  love  one  day  I  am 
sure, — if  not  here,  then  hereafter.     I  can  wait !" 

As  she  spoke  she  looked  up  to  the  placid  heavens  where  one 
or  two  stars  twinkled  through  the  arching  boughs, — her  face 
expressed  angelic  confidence  and  perfect  peace, — and  Rimanez 
advancing  a  step  or  two,  fully  confronted  her  with  a  strange 
light  of  exultation  in  his  eyes. 

"  True, — you  can  wait,  Mavis  Clare  !"  he  said  in  deep  clear 
tones  from  which  all  sadness  had  fled.  **  You  can  afford  to 
wait !  Tell  me, — think  for  a  moment, — can  you  remember 
me  ?  Is  there  a  time  on  which  you  can  look  back,  and  look- 
ing, see  my  face,  not  here  but  elsewhere?  Think!  Did 
you  ever  see  me  long  ago — in  a  far  sphere  of  beauty  and  light, 
when  you  were  an  Angel,  Mavis, — and  I  was — not  what  I  am 
now  !  How  you  tremble  !  You  need  not  fear  me, — I  would 
not  harm  you  for  a  thousand  worlds  !  I  talk  wildly  at  times, 
I  know  ; — [  think  of  things  that  are  past, — long,  long  past, — 
and  I  am  filled  with  regrets  that  burn  my  soul  with  fiercer 
heat  than  fire.  And  so  neither  world's  wealth,  world's  power, 
nor  world's  love  will  tempt  you.  Mavis  ! — and  you, — a  woman  ! 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  339 

You  are  a  living  miracle  then, — as  miraculous  as  the  drop  of 
undefiled  dew  which  reflects  in  its  tiny  circumference  all  the 
colours  of  the  sky,  and  sinks  into  the  earth  sweetly,  carrying 
moisture  and  refreshment  where  it  falls !  I  can  do  nothing 
for  you — you  will  not  have  my  aid — you  reject  my  service? 
Then  as  I  may  not  help  you,  you  must  help  ?ne  /" — and  drop- 
ping before  her,  he  reverently  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 
"  I  ask  a  very  little  thing  of  you ;  pray  for  me  !  I  know  you 
are  accustomed  to  pray,  so  it  will  be  no  trouble  to  you, — you 
believe  God  hears  you, — and  when  I  look  at  you,  /  believe  it 
too.  Only  a  pure  woman  can  make  faith  possible  to  man.  Pray 
for  me  then,  as  one  who  has  fallen  from  his  higher  and  better 
self, — who  strives,  but  who  may  not  attain, — who  labours 
under  heavy  punishment, — who  would  fain  reach  Heaven, 
but  who  by  the  cursed  will  of  man,  and  man  alone,  is  kept 
in  Hell.  Pray  for  me.  Mavis  Clare  !  promise  it ! — and  so 
shall  you  lift  me  a  step  nearer  the  glory  I  have  lost !" 

I  listened,  petrified  with  amazement.  Could  this  be  Lucio? 
— the  mocking,  careless,  cynical  scoffer  I  knew,  as  I  thought, 
so  well  ? — was  it  really  he  who  knelt  thus  like  a  repentant 
sinner,  abasing  his  proud  head  before  a  woman  ?  I  saw  Mavis 
release  her  hand  from  his,  the  while  she  stood  looking  down 
upon  him  in  alarm  and  bewilderment.  Presently  she  spoke 
in  sweet  yet  tremulous  accents — 

*' Since  you  desire  it  so  earnestly,  I  promise,"  she  said. 
*'  I  will  pray  that  the  strange  and  bitter  sorrow  which  seems 
to  consume  you  may  be  removed  from  your  life " 

**  Sorrow!"  he  echoed,  interrupting  her  and  springing  to 
his  feet  with  an  impassioned  gesture.  ''Woman, — genius, — 
angel, — whatever  you  are,  do  not  speak  of  one  sorrow  for  me  1 
I  have  a  thousand  thousand  sorrows  ! — aye  a  million  million, 
that  are  as  little  flames  about  my  heart,  and  as  deeply  seated 
as  the  centres  of  the  universe  !  The  foul  and  filthy  crimes  of 
men, — the  base  deceits  and  cruelties  of  women, — the  ruthless, 
murderous  ingratitude  of  children, — the  scorn  of  good,  the 
martyrdom  of  intellect,  the  selfishness,  the  avarice,  the  sensu- 


340 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


ality  of  human  life,  the  hideous  blasphemy  and  sin  of  the 
creature  to  the  Creator, — these  are  my  endless  sorrows  !  — 
these  keep  me  wretched  and  in  chains  when  I  would  fain 
be  free.  These  create  hell  around  me,  and  endless  torture, 
— these  bind  and  crush  me  and  pervert  my  being  till  I  be- 
come what  I  dare  not  name  to  myself  or  to  others.  And 
yet,  ...  as  the  eternal  God  is  my  witness,  ...  I  do  not 
think  I  am  as  bad  as  the  worst  man  living  !  I  may  tempt, 
but  I  do  not  pursue, — I  take  the  lead  in  many  lives,  yet  I 
make  the  way  I  go  so  plain  that  those  who  follow  me  do  so  by 
their  own  choice  and  free  will  more  than  by  my  persuasion  !" 
He  paused, — then  continued  in  a  softer  tone — "You  look 
afraid  of  me, — but  be  assured  you  never  had  less  cause  for 
terror.  You  have  truth  and  purity — I  honour  both.  You 
will  have  none  of  my  advice  or  assistance  in  the  making  of 
your  life's  history, — to-night  therefore  we  part,  to  meet  no 
more  on  earth.  Never  again.  Mavis  Clare  ! — no,  not  through 
all  your  quiet  days  of  sweet  and  contented  existence  will  I 
cross  your  path, — before  Heaven  I  swear  it  !" 

*'  But  why?"  asked  Mavis  gently,  approaching  him  now  as 
she  spoke,  with  a  soft  grace  of  movement,  and  laying  her  hand 
on  his  arm — ''  why  do  you  speak  with  such  a  passion  of  self- 
reproach?  What  dark  cloud  is  on  your  mind?  Surely  you 
have  a  noble  nature, — and  I  feel  that  I  have  wronged  you  in 
my  thoughts,  .  .  .  you  must  forgive  me — I  have  mistrusted 
you " 

*'  You  do  well  to  mistrust  me  !"  he  answered,  and  with  these 
words  he  caught  both  her  hands  and  held  them  in  his  own, 
looking  at  her  full  in  the  face  with  eyes  that  flashed  like 
jewels.  **  Your  instinct  teaches  you  rightly.  Would  there 
were  many  more  like  you  to  doubt  me  and  repel  me  !  One 
word, — if,  when  I  am  gone,  you  ever  think  of  me,  think  that 
I  am  more  to  be  pitied  than  the  veriest  paralyzed  and  starving 
wretch  that  ever  crawled  on  earth, — for  he,  perchance,  has 
hope — and  I  have  none.  And  when  you  pray  for  me, — for 
I   hold  you   to  this  promise, — pray  for  one  who  dares  not 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  341 

pray  for  himself.  You  know  the  words,  *  Lead  us  not  into 
temptation  but  deliver  us  from  evil'  ?  To-night  you  have 
been  led  into  temptation,  though  you  knew  it  not,  but  you 
have  delivered  yourself  from  evil  as  only  a  true  soul  can. 
And  now  farewell!  In  life  I  shall  see  you  no  more: — in 
death, — well,  I  have  attended  many  death-beds  in  response 
to  the  invitations  of  the  moribund,  but  I  shall  not  be  present 
at  yours  !  Perhaps,  when  your  parting  spirit  is  on  the  verge 
between  darkness  and  light,  you  may  know  who  I  was  and 
am, — and  you  may  thank  God  with  your  last  breath  that  we 
parted  to-night — as  we  do  now — forever  I" 

He  loosened  his  grasp  of  her, — she  fell  back  from  him,  pale 
and  terrified, — for  there  was  something  now  in  the  dark  beauty 
of  his  face  that  was  unnatural  and  appalling.  A  sombre 
shadow  clouded  his  brows, — his  eyes  had  gleams  in  them  as 
of  fire, — and  a  smile  was  on  his  lips,  half  tender,  half  cruel. 
His  strange  expression  moved  even  me  to  a  sense  of  fear,  and 
I  shivered  with  sudden  cold,  though  the  air  was  warm  and 
balmy.  Slowly  retreating.  Mavis  moved  away,  looking  round 
at  him  now  and  then  as  she  went,  in  wistful  wonder  and 
alarm, — till  in  a  minute  or  two  her  slight  figure,  in  its  shim- 
mering silken  white  robe,  had  vanished  among  the  trees.  I 
lingered,  hesitating  and  uncertain  what  to  do, — then  finally 
determining  to  get  back  to  the  house  if  possible  without  being 
noticed,  I  made  one  step,  when  Lucio's  voice,  scarcely  raised, 
addressed  me — 

''  Well,  eavesdropper  !  Why  did  you  not  come  out  of  the 
shadow  of  that  elm-tree  and  see  the  play  to  better  advantage  ?" 

Surprised  and  confused,  I  advanced,  mumbling  some  unin- 
telligible excuse. 

''  You  saw  a  pretty  bit  of  acting  here,"  he  went  on,  striking 
a  match  and  lighting  a  cigar  the  while  he  regarded  me  coolly, 
his  eyes  twinkling  with  their  usual  mockery.  ''  You  know  my 
theory,  that  all  men  and  all  women  are  purchasable  for  gold  ? 
Well,  I  wanted  to  try  Mavis  Clare.  She  rejected  all  my  ad- 
vantageous offers,  as  you  must  have  heard,  and  I  could  only 

29* 


342 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


make  matters  smooth  by  asking  her  to  pray  for  me.  That 
I  did  this  very  melodramatically  I  hope  you  will  admit  ?  A 
woman  of  that  dreamy  idealistic  temperament  always  likes 
to  imagine  that  there  is  a  man  who  is  grateful  for  her  prayers  !" 

*'You  seemed  very  much  in  earnest  about  it!"  I  said, 
vexed  with  myself  that  he  had  caught  me  spying. 

''Why,  of  course!"  he  responded,  thrusting  his  arm 
familiarly  through  mine.  ''I  had  an  audience!  Two  fas- 
tidious critics  of  dramatic  art  heard  me  rant  my  rantings, — 
I  had  to  do  my  best !" 

''Two  critics?"  I  repeated  perplexedly. 

"  Yes.  You  on  one  side, — Lady  Sibyl  on  the  other.  Lady 
Sibyl  rose,  after  the  custom  of  fashionable  beauties  at  the 
opera,  before  the  last  scene,  in  order  to  get  home  in  good 
time  for  supper  !" 

He  laughed  wildly  and  discordantly,  and  I  felt  desperately 
uncomfortable. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,  Lucio,"  I  said.  "  That  /listened 
I  admit, — and  it  was  wrong  of  me  to  do  so,— but  my  wife 
would  never  condescend  ..." 

"Ah,  then  it  must  have  been  a  sylph  of  the  woods  that 
glided  out  of  the  shadow  with  a  silken  train  behind  her  and 
diamonds  in  her  hair,"  he  retorted  gaily.  "Tut,  Geoffrey! 
— don't  look  so  crestfallen.  I  have  done  with  Mavis  Clare 
and  she  with  me.  I  have  not  been  making  love  to  her, — I 
have  simply,  just  to  amuse  myself,  tested  her  character, — and 
I  find  it  stronger  than  I  thought.  The  combat  is  over.  She 
will  never  go  my  way, — nor,  I  fear,  shall  I  ever  go  hers." 

"Upon  my  word,  Lucio,"  I  said  with  some  irritation, 
"your  disposition  seems  to  grow  more  and  more  erratic  and 
singular  every  day  !" 

"Does  it  not!"  he  answered  with  a  droll  affectation  of 
interested  surprise  in  himself.  "  I  am  a  curious  creature  alto- 
gether !  Wealth  is  mine  and  I  care  not  a  jot  for  it, — power  is 
mine  and  I  loathe  its  responsibility ; — in  fact,  I  would  rather 
be  anything  but  what  I  am.     Look  at  the  lights  of  your  '  home, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  343 

sweet  home,'  Geoffrey!"  this  he  said  as  we  emerged  from 
among  the  trees  on  to  the  moonlit  lawn,  from  whence  could  be 
seen  the  shining  of  the  electric  lamps  in  the  drawing-room. 
"  Lady  Sibyl  is  there, — an  enchanting  and  perfect  woman,  who 
lives  but  to  welcome  you  to  her  embracing  arms  !  P'ortunate 
man  ! — who  would  not  envy  you  !  Love  ! — who  would,  who 
could  exist  without  it — save  me  !  Who,  in  Europe  at  least, 
would  forego  the  delights  of  kissing  (which  the  Japanese  by- 
the-bye  consider  a  disgusting  habit),  without  embraces, — and 
all  those  other  endearments  which  are  supposed  to  dignify  the 
progress  of  true  love  !  One  never  tires  of  these  things, — there 
is  no  satiety  !     I  wish  I  could  love  somebody  ! ' ' 

''  So  you  can,  if  you  like,"  I  said,  with  a  little  uneasy  laugh. 

'^1  cannot.  It  is  not  in  me.  You  heard  me  tell  Mavis 
Clare  as  much.  I  have  it  in  my  power  to  make  other  people 
fall  in  love,  somewhat  after  the  dexterous  fashion  practised  by 
match-making  mothers, — but  for  myself,  love  on  this  planet  is 
too  low  a  thing — too  brief  in  duration.  Last  night,  in  a  dream, 
— I  have  strange  dreams  at  times, — I  saw  one  whom  possibly  I 
could  love, — but  she  was  a  Spirit,  with  eyes  more  lustrous  than 
the  morning,  and  a  form  as  transparent  as  flame  ; — she  could 
sing  sweetly,  and  I  watched  her  soaring  upwards  and  listened 
to  her  song.  It  was  a  wild  song,  and  to  many  mortal  ears 
meaningless, — it  was  something  like  this  ..."  and  his  rich 
baritone  pealed  lusciously  forth  in  melodious  tune — 

Into  the  Light, 

Into  the  heart  of  the  fire, 
To  the  innermost  core  of  the  deathless  flame 

I  ascend, — I  aspire  ! 
Under  me  rolls  the  whirling  Earth 
With  the  noise  of  a  myriad  wheels  that  run 

Ever  round  and  about  the  sun, — 
Over  me  circles  the  splendid  heaven 
Strewn  with  the  stars  of  morn  and  even, 

And  I  a  queen 

Of  the  air  serene, 
Float  with  my  flag-like  wings  unfurled, 
Alone — alone — "twixt  God  and  the  world ! 


344  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

Here  he  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  ''She  was  a  strange 
Spirit,"  he  said,  "  because  she  could  see  nothing  but  herself 
*  'twixt  God  and  the  world. '  She  was  evidently  quite  unaware 
of  the  numerous  existing  barriers  put  up  by  mankind  between 
themselves  and  their  Maker.  I  wonder  what  unenlightened 
sphere  she  came  from  ! ' ' 

I  looked  at  him  in  mingled  wonder  and  impatience. 

"You  talk  wildly,"  I  said.  ''And  you  sing  wildly, — of 
things  that  mean  nothing  and  are  nothing." 

He  smiled,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  moon,  now  shining  her 
fullest  and  brightest. 

"True!"  he  replied.  "  Things  which  have  meaning  and 
are  valuable,  have  all  to  do  with  money  or  appt^tite,  Geoffrey  ! 
There  is  no  wider  outlook  evidently.  But  we  were  speaking 
of  love,  and  I  hold  that  love  should  be  eternal  as  hate.  Here 
you  have  the  substance  of  my  religious  creed  if  I  have  any, — 
that  there  are  two  spiritual  forces  ruling  the  universe — love  and 
hate, — and  that  their  incessant  quarrel  creates  the  general  con- 
fusion of  life.  Both  contend  one  against  the  other, — and  only 
at  Judgment-Day  will  it  be  proved  which  is  the  strongest. 
I  am  on  the  side  of  Hate  myself, — for  at  present  Hate  has 
scored  all  the  victories  worth  winning,  while  Love  has  been 
so  often  martyred  that  there  is  only  the  poor  ghost  of  it  left 
on  earth." 

At  that  moment  my  wife's  figure  appeared  at  the  drawing- 
room  window,  and  Lucio  threw  away  his  half-smoked  cigar. 

"Your  guardian-angel  beckons!"  he  said,  looking  at  me 
with  an  odd  expression  of  something  like  pity  mingled  with 
disdain.      "  Let  us  go  in." 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  345 


XXX 

The  very  next  night  but  one  after  Liicio's  strange  inter- 
view with  Mavis  Claie,  the  thunderbolt  destined  to  wreck  my 
life  and  humiliate  me  to  the  dust  fell  with  appalling  sudden- 
ness. No  warning  given  ! — it  came  at  a  moment  when  I  had 
dared  to  deem  myself  happy.  All  that  day, — the  last  day  I 
was  ever  to  know  of  pride  or  self-gratulation, — I  had  enjoyed 
life  to  the  full ;  it  was  a  day  too  in  which  Sibyl  had  seemed 
transformed  to  a  sweeter  gentler  woman  than  I  had  hitherto 
known  her, — when  all  her  attractions  of  beauty  and  manner 
were  apparently  put  forth  to  captivate  and  enthrall  me  as  though 
she  were  yet  to  be  wooed  and  won.  Or, — did  she  mean  to 
bewitch  and  subjugate  Lucio?  Of  this  I  never  thought, — 
never  dreamed  : — I  only  saw  in  my  wife  an  enchantress  of  the 
most  voluptuous  and  delicate  loveliness, — a  woman  whose  very 
garments  seemed  to  cling  to  her  tenderly  as  though  proud  of 
clothing  so  exquisite  a  form, — a  creature  whose  every  glance 
was  brilliant,  whose  every  smile  was  a  ravishment, — and  whose 
voice,  attuned  to  the  softest  and  most  caressing  tones  appeared 
in  its  every  utterance  to  assure  me  of  a  deeper  and  more  last- 
ing love  than  I  had  yet  enjoyed.  The  hours  flew  by  on  golden 
wings, — we  all  three, — Sibyl,  myself  and  Lucio, — had  at- 
tained, as  I  imagined,  to  a  perfect  unity  of  friendship  and 
mutual  understanding, — we  had  passed  that  last  day  together 
in  the  outlying  \voods  of  Willowsmere,  under  a  gorgeous 
canopy  of  autumn  leaves,  through  which  the  sun  shed  mellow 
beams  of  rose  and  gold, — we  had  had  an  alfresco  luncheon  in 
the  open  air. — Lucio  had  sung  for  us  wild  old  ballads  and  love- 
madrigals  till  the  very  foliage  had  seemed  to  tremble  with  joy 
at  the  sound  of  such  entrancing  melody, — and  not  a  cloud  had 
marred  the  perfect  peace  and  pleasure  of  the  time.  Mavis 
Clare  was  not  with  us, — and  I  was  glad.  Somehow  I  felt 
that  of  late  she  had  been  more  or  less  a  discordant  element 


346  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

whenever  she  had  joined  our  party.  I  admired  her, — in  a  sort 
of  fraternal  half-patronizing  way  I  even  loved  her, — neverthe- 
less I  was  conscious  that  her  ways  were  not  as  our  ways, — her 
thoughts  not  as  our  thoughts.  I  placed  the  fault  on  her  of 
course  ;  1  concluded  that  it  was  because  she  had  what  I  elected 
to  call  Miterary  egoism,'  instead  of  by  its  rightful  name,  the 
spirit  of  honourable  independence.  I  never  considered  the 
inflated  quality  of  my  own  egoism, — the  poor  pride  of  a  '  cash 
and  county  position,'  which  is  the  pettiest  sort  of  vain-glory 
anyone  can  indulge  in, — and  after  turning  the  matter  over  in 
my  mind,  I  decided  that  Mavis  was  a  very  charming  young 
woman,  with  great  literary  gifts  and  an  amazing  pride  which 
made  it  totally  impossible  for  her  to  associate  with  many 
'great'  people,  so-called, — as  she  would  never  descend  to  the 
necessary  level  of  flunkeyish  servility  which  they  expected,  and 
which  /certainly  demanded.  I  should  almost  have  been  in- 
clined to  relegate  her  to  Grub  Street,  had  not  a  faint  sense  of 
justice  as  well  as  shame  held  me  back  from  doing  her  that  in- 
dignity even  in  my  thoughts.  However,  I  was  too  much  im- 
pressed with  my  own  vast  resources  of  unlimited  wealth  to 
realize  the  fact  that  anyone  who,  like  Mavis,  earns  indepen- 
dence by  intellectual  work  and  worth  alone,  is  entitled  to  feel 
a  far  greater  pride  than  those  who  by  mere  chance  of  birth  or 
heritage  become  the  possessors  of  millions.  Then  again, 
Mavis  Clare's  literary  position  was,  though  I  liked  her  person- 
ally, always  a  kind  of  reproach  to  me  when  I  thought  of  my 
own  abortive  efforts  to  win  the  laurels  of  fame.  So  that  on 
the  whole  I  was  glad  she  did  not  spend  that  day  with  us  in 
the  woods ; — of  course,  if  I  had  paid  any  attention  to  the 
'  trifles  which  make  up  the  sum  of  life'  I  should  have  remem- 
bered that  Lucio  had  told  her  he  would  ''meet  her  no  more 
on  earth," — but  I  judged  this  to  be  a  mere  trifle  of  hasty  and 
melodramatic  speech,  without  any  intentional  meaning. 

So  my  last  twenty-four  hours  of  happiness  passed  away  in 
halcyon  serenity, — I  felt  a  sense  of  deepening  pleasure  in 
existence,  and  I  began  to  believe  that  the  future  had  brighter 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  347 

things  in  store  for  me  than  I  had  lately  ventured  to  expect. 
Sibyl's  new  phase  of  gentleness  and  tenderness  towards  me, 
combined  with  her  rare  beauty,  seemed  to  augur  that  the  mis- 
understandings between  us  would  be  of  short  duration,  and  that 
her  nature,  too  early  rendered  harsh  and  cynical  by  a  '  society' 
education,  would  soften  in  time  to  that  beautiful  womanliness 
which  is,  after  all,  woman's  best  charm.  Thus  I  thought,  in 
blissful  and  contented  reverie,  reclining  under  the  branching 
autumnal  foliage,  with  my  fair  wife  beside  me,  and  listening 
to  the  rich  tones  of  my  friend  Lucio's  magnificent  voice  peal- 
ing forth  sonorous,  wild  melodies,  as  the  sunset  deepened  in 
the  sky  and  the  twilight  shadows  fell.  Then  came  the  night — 
the  night  which  dropped  only  for  a  few  hours  over  the  quiet 
landscape,  but  for  ever  over  me  ! 

We  had  dined  late,  and,  pleasantly  fatigued  with  our  day  in 
the  open  air  had  retired  early.  I  had  latterly  grown  a  heavy 
sleeper,  and  I  suppose  I  must  have  slumbered  some  hours, 
when  I  was  awakened  suddenly  as  though  by  an  imperative 
touch  from  some  unseen  hand.  I  started  up  in  my  bed, — the 
night-lamp  was  burning  dimly,  and  by  its  glimmer  I  saw  that 
Sibyl  was  no  longer  at  my  side.  My  heart  gave  one  bound 
against  my  ribs  and  then  almost  stood  still — a  sense  of  some- 
thing unexpected  and  calamitous  chilled  my  blood.  I  pushed 
aside  the  embroidered  silken  hangings  of  the  bed  and  peered 
into  the  room, — it  was  empty.  Then  I  rose  hastily,  put  on 
my  clothes  and  went  to  the  door, — it  was  carefully  shut,  but 
not  locked  as  it  had  been  when  we  retired  for  the  night.  I 
opened  it  without  the  least  noise,  and  looked  out  into  the 
long  passage, — no  one  there  !  Immediately  opposite  the  bed- 
room door  there  was  a  winding  oak  staircase  leading  down  to 
a  broad  corridor  which  in  former  times  had  been  used  as  a 
music-room  or  picture-gallery, — an  ancient  organ,  still  sweet 
of  tone,  occupied  one  end  of  it  with  dull  golden  pipes  tower- 
ing up  to  the  carved  and  embossed  ceiling, — the  other  end  was 
lit  by  a  large  oriel  window  like  that  of  a  church,  filled  with 
rare  old  stained  glass,  representing  in  various  niches  the  lives 


348  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

of  the  saints,  the  centre  subject  being  the  martyrdom  of  St 
Stephen.  Advancing  with  soft  caution  to  the  baUistrade  over- 
looking this  gallery  I  gazed  down  into  it,  and  for  a  moment 
could  see  nothing  on  the  polished  floor  but  the  criss-cross  pat- 
terns made  by  the  moonlight  falling  through  the  great  window, 
— but  presently,  as  I  watched  breathlessly,  wondering  where 
Sibyl  could  have  gone  to  at  this  time  of  night,  I  saw  a  dark 
tall  shadow  waver  across  the  moonlit  network  of  lines,  and  I 
heard  the  smothered  sound  of  voices.  With  my  pulses  beating 
furiously,  and  a  sensation  of  suffocation  in  my  throat, — full  of 
strange  thoughts  and  suspicions  which  I  dared  not  define,  I 
crept  slowly  and  stealthily  down  the  stair,  till  as  my  foot 
touched  the  last  step  I  saw — what  nearly  struck  me  to  the 
ground  with  a  shock  of  agony — and  I  had  to  draw  back  and 
bite  my  lips  hard  to  repress  the  cry  that  nearly  escaped  them. 
There,— there  before  me  in  the  full  moonlight,  with  the  colours 
of  the  red  and  blue  robes  of  the  painted  saints  on  the  window 
glowing  blood-like  and  azure  about  her,  knelt  my  wife, — 
arrayed  in  a  diaphanous  garment  of  filmy  white  which  betrayed 
rather  than  concealed  the  outline  of  her  form, — her  wealth  of 
hair  falling  about  her  in  wild  disorder, — her  hands  clasped  in 
supplication, — her  pale  face  upturned  ;  and  above  her  towered 
the  dark  imposing  figure  of  Lucio  !  I  stared  at  the  twain  with 
dry  burning  eyes, — what  did  this  portend?  Was  she — my 
wife — false?     Was  he — my  friend — a  traitor? 

'^  Patience  ! — patience  !"  I  muttered  to  myself.  "This  is  a 
piece  of  acting  doubtless — such  as  chanced  the  other  night  with 
Mavis  Clare! — patience! — let  us  hear  this — this  comedy!" 
And,  drawing  myself  close  up  against  the  wall,  I  leaned  there, 
scarcely  drawing  breath,  waiting  for  her  \o\cq — (or  /lis  ; — when 
they  spoke  I  should  know, — yes,  I  should  know  all !  And  I 
fastened  my  looks  on  them  as  they  stood  there, — vaguely 
wondering  even  in  my  tense  anguish,  at  the  fearful  light  on 
Lucio's  face, — a  light  which  could  scarcely  be  the  reflection 
of  the  moon,  as  he  backed  the  window, — and  at  the  scorn  of 
his  frowning  brows.     What  terrific  humour  swayed  him? — 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


349 


why  did  he,  even  to  my  stupefied  thought  appear  more  than 
human  ? — why  did  his  very  beauty  seem  hideous  at  that 
moment,  and  his  aspect  fiendish  ?  Hush — hush  !  She  spoke, 
— my  wife, — I  heard  her  every  word, — heard  all  and  endured 
all  without  falling  dead  at  her  feet  in  the  extremity  of  my  dis- 
honour and  despair ! 

"I  love  you  !"  she  wailed.  *'  Lucio,  I  love  you,  and  my 
love  is  killing  me  !  Be  merciful ! — have  pity  on  my  passion  ! 
Love  me  for  one  hour,  one  little  hour  ! — it  is  not  much  to  ask, 
and  afterwards, — do  with  me  whit  you  will, — torture  me, 
brand  me  an  outcast  in  the  public  sight,  curse  me  before 
Heaven — I  care  nothing — I  am  yours  body  and  soul — I  love 
you!" 

Her  accents  vibrated  with  mad,  idolatrous  pleading, — I 
listened  infuriated,  but  dumb.  *' Hush,— hush !"  I  told 
myself.  ''  This  is  a  comedy — not  yet  played  out  !"  And  I 
waited,  with  every  nerve  strained,  for  Lucio' s  reply.  It  came, 
accompanied  by  a  laugh,  low  and  sarcastic. 

"You  flatter  me!"  he  said.  "I  regret  I  am  unable  to 
return  the  compliment  !" 

My  heart  gave  a  throb  of  relief  and  fierce  joy, — almost  I 
could  have  joined  in  his  ironical  laughter.  She — Sibyl — 
dragged  herself  nearer  to  him. 

"Lucio — Lucio!"  she  murmured.  "Have  you  a  heart? 
Can  you  reject  me  when  I  pray  to  you  thus  ? — when  I  offer 
you  all  myself, — all  that  I  am,  or  ever  hope  to  be  ?  Am  I  so 
repugnant  to  you  ?  Many  men  would  give  their  lives  if  I 
would  say  to  them  what  I  say  to  you, — but  they  are  nothing 
to  me — you  alone  are  my  world, — the  breath  of  my  existence  ! 
— ah,  Lucio,  can  you  not  believe,  will  you  not  realize  how 
deeply  I  love  you  !" 

He  turned  towards  her  with  a  sudden  fierce  movement  that 
startled  me, — and  the  cloud  of  scorn  upon  his  brows  grew 
darker. 

"  I  know  you  love  me  !"  he  said,  and  from  where  I  stood  I 
saw  the  cold  derisive  smile  flash  from  his  lips  to  his  eyes  in 

30 


350  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

lightning-like  mockery.  "  1  have  always  known  it.  Your 
vampire  soul  leaped  to  mine  at  the  first  glance  I  ever  gave 
you, — you  were  a  false  foul  thing  from  the  first,  and  you 
recognised  your  master!  Yes — your  master!"  for  she  had 
uttered  a  faint  cry  as  if  in  fear, — and  he,  stooping,  snatched 
her  two  hands  and  grasped  them  hard  in  his  own  "  Listen 
to  the  truth  of  yourself  for  once  from  one  who  is  not  afraid 
to  speak  it ! — you  love  me, — and  truly  your  body  and  soul  are 
mine  to  claim  if  I  so  choose  !  You  married  with  a  lie  upon 
your  lips ;  you  swore  fidelity  to  your  husband  before  God, 
with  infidelity  already  in  your  thoughts,  and  by  your  own 
act  made  the  mystical  blessing  a  blasphemy  and  a  curse  ! 
Wonder  not  then  that  the  curse  has  fallen  !  I  knew  it  all ! — 
the  kiss  I  gave  you  on  your  wedding-day  put  fire  in  your 
blood  and  sealed  you  mine  ! — why,  you  would  have  fled  to 
me  that  very  night,  had  I  demanded  it, — had  I  loved  you  as 
you  love  me, — that  is,  if  you  choose  to  call  the  disease  of  vanity 
and  desire  that  riots  in  your  veins  by  such  a  name  as  love  ! 
But  now  hear  me  /"  and  as  he  held  her  two  wrists  he  looked 
down  upon  her  with  such  black  wrath  depicted  in  his  face  as 
seemed  to  create  a  darkness  round  him  where  he  stood  ; — "  I 
hate  you  !  Yes — I  hate  you,  and  all  such  women  as  you  ! 
For  you  corrupt  the  world, — you  turn  good  to  evil, — you 
deepen  folly  into  crime, — with  the  seduction  of  your  nude 
limbs  and  lying  eyes,  you  make  fools,  cowards  and  beasts  of 
men  !  When  you  die,  your  bodies  generate  foulness, — things 
of  the  mould  and  slime  are  formed  out  of  the  flesh  that  was 
once  fair  for  man's  delight, — you  are  no  use  in  life— you  be- 
come poison  in  death, — I  hate  you  all  !  I  read  your  soul — it 
is  an  open  book  to  me — and  it  is  branded  with  a  name  given 
to  those  who  are  publicly  vile,  but  which  should,  of  strict 
right  and  justice,  be  equally  bestowed  on  women  of  your 
position  and  type,  who  occupy  pride  and  place  in  this  world's 
standing,  and  who  have  not  the  excuse  of  poverty  for  selling 
themselves  to  the  devil  !" 

He  ceased  abruptly  and  with  passion,  making  a  movement 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  351 

as  though  to  fling  her  from  him, — but  she  dung  to  his  arm, — 
chmg  with  all  the  pertinacity  of  the  loathly  insect  he  had  taken 
from  the  bosom  of  the  dead  Egyptian  woman  and  made  a  toy 
of  to  amuse  his  leisure  !  And  I,  looking  on  and  listening, 
honoured  him  for  his  plain  speaking,  for  his  courage  in  telling 
this  shameless  creature  what  she  was  in  the  opinion  of  an 
honest  man,  without  glozing  over  her  outrageous  conduct  for 
the  sake  of  civility  or  social  observance.  My  friend,  my 
more  than  friend  !  He  was  true, — he  was  loyal, — he  had 
neither  desire  nor  intent  to  betray  or  dishonour  me.  My  heart 
swelled  with  gratitude  to  him,  and  also  with  a  curious  sense 
of  feeble  self  pity, — compassionating  myself  intensely  I  could 
have  sobbed  aloud  in  nervous  fury  and  pain,  had  not  my  de- 
sire to  hear  more  repressed  my  personal  excitement  and  emo- 
tion. I  watched  my  wife  wonderingly — what  had  become  of 
her  pride  that  she  still  knelt  before  the  man  who  had  taunted 
her  with  such  words  as  should  have  been  beyond  all  en- 
durance ? 

'*Lucio!  .  .  .  Lucio  !"  she  whispered,  and  her  whispers 
sounded  through  the  long  gallery  like  the  hiss  of  a  snake — 
*'say  what  you  will— say  all  you  will  of  me, — you  can  say 
nothing  that  is  not  true.  I  am  vile — I  own  it.  But  is  it  of 
much  avail  to  be  virtuous  ?  What  pleasure  comes  from  good- 
ness?— what  gratification  from  self-denial?  There  is  no  God 
to  care  !  A  few  years,  and  we  all  die,  and  are  forgotten  even 
by  those  who  loved  us, — why  should  we  lose  such  joys  as  we 
may  have  for  the  mere  asking?  Surely  it  is  not  difficult  to 
love  even  for  an  hour  ? — am  I  not  fair  to  look  upon  ? — and 
is  all  this  beauty  of  my  face  and  form  worthless  in  your  sight, 
and  you  no  more  than  man  ?  Murder  me  as  you  may  with 
all  the  cruelty  of  cruel  words,  I  care  nothing  ! — I  love  you — 
love  you  !"  arid  in  a  perfect  passion  of  self-abandonment  she 
sprang  to  her  feet,  tossing  back  her  rich  hair  over  her  shoul- 
ders, and  stood  erect,  a  very  bacchante  of  wild  loveliness. 
"  Look  at  me  !  You  shall  not, — you  dare  not  spurn  such  a 
love  as  mine  !" 


352  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

Dead  silence  followed  her  outburst,  and  I  stared  in  fasci- 
nated awe  at  Lucio  as  he  turned  more  fully  round  and  con- 
fronted her.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  struck  me 
then  as  quite  unearthly, — his  beautiful  broad  brows  were 
knitted  in  a  darkling  line  of  menace, — his  eyes  literally 
blazed  with  scorn,  and  yet  he  laughed, — a  low  laugh,  reso- 
nant with  satire. 

'*  Shall  not! — dare  not!"  he  echoed  disdainfully. 
''Woman's  words, — woman's  ranting! — the  shriek  of  the 
outraged  feminine  animal  who  fails  to  attract,  as  she  thinks, 
her  chosen  mate.  Such  a  love  as  } ours  ! — what  is  it?  Deg- 
radation to  whosoever  shall  accept  it, — shame  to  whosoever 
shall  rely  upon  it !  You  make  a  boast  of  your  beauty  :  your 
mirror  shows  you  a  pleasing  image, — but  your  mirror  lies  as 
admirably  as  you  do  !  You  see  within  it,  not  the  reflection 
of  yourself,  for  that  would  cause  you  to  recoil  in  horror,  .  .  . 
you  merely  look  upon  your  fleshly  covering,  a  garment  of  tis- 
sues, shrinkable,  perishable,  and  only  fit  to  mingle  with  the 
dust  from  which  it  sprang.  Your  beauty  !  I  see  none  of  it, 
— I  see  You!  and  to  me  you  are  hideous,  and  "vvill  remain 
hideous  for  ever.  I  hate  you  ! — I  hate  you  with  the  bitter- 
ness of  an  immeasurable  and  unforgiving  hatred, — for  you 
have  done  me  a  wrong, — you  have  wrought  an  injury  upon 
me, — you  have  added  another  burden  to  the  load  of  punish- 
ment I  carry  !"" 

She  made  a  forward  movement  with  outstretched  arms, — 
he  repulsed  her  by  a  fierce  gesture. 

'^  Stand  back  !"  he  said.  "  Be  afraid  of  me,  as  of  an  un- 
known Terror  !  O  pitiless  Heaven  !— to  think  of  it ! — but  a 
night  ag<5  I  was  lifted  a  step  nearer  to  my  lost  delight !— and 
now  this  woman  drags  me  back,  and  down  ! — and  yet  again  I 
hear  the  barring  of  the  gates  of  Paradise  !  O  infinite  torture  ! 
O  wicked  -souls  of  men  and  women  ! — is  there  no  touch  of 
grace  or  thought  of  God  left  in  you  ! — and  will  ye  make  my 
sorrows  eternal  ! ' ' 

He  stood,  lifting  hi.s  face  to  the  light  where  it  streamed 


TPIE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  353 

through  the  oriel  window,  and  the  moonbeams  colouring 
themselves  faintly  roseate  as  they  filtered  through  the  painted 
garments  of  St  Stephen,  showed  a  great  and  terrible  anguish 
in  his  eyes.  I  hc^ard  him  with  amazement  and  awe, — I  could 
not  imagine  what  he  meant  by  his  strange  \vords, — and  it  was 
evident  by  her  expression,  that  my  reckless  and  abandoned 
wife  was  equally  mystified. 

'*Lucio,"  she  murmured,  "  Lucio,  .  .  .  what  is  it  .  .  . 
what  have  I  done? — I  who  would  not  wound  you  for  the 
world  ? — I  who  but  seek  your  love,  Lucio,  to  repay  it  in  full 
with  such  fond  passion  and  tenderness  as  you  have  never 
known  !  For  this  and  this  only,  I  married  Geoffrey, — I 
chose  your  friend  as  husband  because  he  was  your  friend  !" 
(O  perfidious  woman  !)  "and  because  I  saw  his  foolish  ego- 
tism,— his  pride  in  himself  and  his  riches, — his  blind  con- 
fidence in  me  and  in  you  ; — I  knew  that  I  could,  after  a  time 
follow  the  fashion  of  many  another  woman  in  my  set  and 
choose  my  lover, — ah,  my  lover  ! — I  had  chosen  him  already, 
— I  have  chosen  you,  Lucio  ! — yes,  though  you  hate  me  you 
cannot  hinder  me  from  loving  you, — I  shall  love  you  till  I 
die!" 

He  turned  his  gaze  upon  her  steadily, — the  gloom  deepen- 
ing on  his  brows. 

''  And  after  you  die  ?"  he  said.     ''  Will  you  love  me  then  ?" 

There  was  a  stern  derision  in  his  tone  which  appeared  to 
vaguely  terrify  her. 

''After  death  !   .   .   ."  she  stammered. 

**Yes, — after  death!"  he  repeated  sombrely.  "There  is 
an  after; — as  your  mother  knows!"  A  faint  exclamation 
escaped  her, — she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him  affrightedly. 
"Fair  lady,"  he  went  on,  "your  mother  was,  like  yourself, 
a  voluptuary.  She,  like  you,  made  up  her  mind  to  '  follow 
the  fashion,'  as  you  put  it,  as  soon  as  her  husband's  'blind' 
or  willing  confidence  was  gained.  She  chose,  not  one  lover 
but  many.  You  know  her  end.  In  the  written  but  miscom- 
prehended  laws  of  Nature,   a  diseased  body   is   the   natural 


354  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

expression  of  a  diseased  mind, — her  face  in  her  last  days  was 
the  reflex  of  her  soul.  You  shudder? — the  thought  of  her 
hideousness  is  repellent  to  your  self-conscious  beauty?  Yet 
the  evil  that  was  in  her  is  also  in  you, — it  festers  in  your 
blood  slowly  but  surely,  and  as  you  have  no  faith  in  God  to 
cure  the  disease,  it  will  have  its  way — even  at  the  final 
moment  when  death  clutches  at  your  throat  and  stops  your 
breathing.  The  smile  upon  your  frozen  lips  then  will  not 
be  the  smile  of  a  saint,  believe  me,  but  of  a  sinner  !  Death 
is  never  deceived,  though  life  may  be.  And  afterwards  .  .  . 
I  ask  again,  will  you  love  me,  do  you  think?  .  .  .  when  you 
know  WHO  I  am?" 

I  was  myself  startled  at  his  manner  of  putting  this  strange 
question  ; — I  saw  her  lift  her  hands  beseechingly  towards  him, 
and  she  seemed  to  tremble. 

*'  When  I  know  who  you  are  !"  she  repeated  wonderingly. 
*'Do  I  not  know?  You  are  Lucio, — Lucio  Rimanez — my 
love, — my  love  ! — whose  voice  is  my  music, — whose  beauty 
I  adore, — whose  looks  are  my  heaven  ..." 

'*  And  Hell!"  he  interposed,  with  a  low  laugh.  ^' Come 
here!" 

She  went  towards  him  eagerly,  yet  falteringly.  He  pointed 
to  the  ground, — I  saw  the  rare  blue  diamond  he  always  wore 
on  his  right  hand  flash  like  a  flame  in  the  moonrays. 

*' Since  you  love  me  so  well,"  he  said,  ''kneel  down  and 
worship  me  !" 

She  dropped  on  her  knees — and  clasped  her  hands, — I 
strove  to  move, — to  speak, — but  some  resistless  force  held 
me  dumb  and  motionless ; — the  light  from  the  stained  glass 
window  fell  upon  her  face  and  showed  its  fairness  illumined 
by  a  smile  of  perfect  rapture. 

*'  With  every  pulse  of  my  being  I  worship  you  I"  she  mur- 
mured passionately.  "  My  king  ! — my  god  !  The  cruel  things 
you  say  but  deepen  my  lov^e  for  you, — you  can  kill,  but  you 
can  never  change  me  !  For  one  kiss  of  your  lips  I  would 
die, — for  one  embrace  from  you  I  would  give  my  soul  ..." 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  355 

"  Have  you  one  to  give  ?"  he  asked  derisively.  "Is  it  not 
already  disposed  of?  You  should  make  sure  of  that  first ! 
Stay  where  you  are  and  let  me  look  at  you  !  So  ! — a  woman, 
wearing  a  husband's  name,  holding  a  husband's  honour, 
clothed  in  the  very  garments  purchased  with  a  husband's 
money,  and  newly  risen  from  a  husband's  side,  steals  forth 
thus  in  the  night,  seeking  to  disgrace  him,  and  pollute  herself 
by  the  vulgarest  unchastity  !  And  this  is  all  that  the  culture 
and  training  of  nineteenth-century  civilization  can  do  for 
you  ?  Myself,  I  prefer  the  barbaric  fashion  of  old  times  when 
rough  savages  fought  for  their  women  as  they  fought  for  their 
cattle,  treated  them  as  cattle,  and  kept  them  in  their  place, 
never  dreaming  of  endowing  them  with  such  strong  virtues  as 
truth  and  honour.  If  women  were  pure  and  true,  then  the 
lost  happiness  of  the  world  might  return  to  it, — but  the 
majority  of  them  are  like  you,  liars,  ever  pretending  to  be 
what  they  are  not.  I  may  do  what  I  choose  with  you,  you 
say  ? — torture  you,  kill  you,  brand  you  with  the  name  of  out- 
cast in  the  public  sight,  and  curse  you  before  Heaven — if  I 
will  only  love  you  ! — all  this  is  melodramatic  speech,  and  I 
never  cared  for  melodrama  at  any  time.  I  shall  neither  kill 
you,  brand  you,  curse  you,  nor  love  you;  I  shall  simply — 
call  your  husband  !" 

I  stirred  from  my  hiding-place, — then  stopped.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet  in  an  insensate  passion  of  anger  and  shame. 

"You  dare  not!"  she  panted.  "You  dare  not  so  .  .  . 
disgrace  me  ! " 

"Disgrace  you!"  he  echoed  scornfully.  "That  remark 
comes  rather  late,  seeing  you  have  disgraced  yourself ! ' ' 

But  she  was  now  fairly  roused.  All  the  savagery  and 
obstinacy  of  her  nature  was  awakened,  and  she  stood  like 
some  beautiful  wild  animal  at  bay,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot  with  the  violence  of  her  emotions. 

"You  repulse  me, — you  scorn  me!"  she  muttered  in  hur- 
ried fierce  accents  that  scarcely  rose  above  an  angry  whisper. 
"You  make  a  mockery  of  my  heart's  anguish  and  despair, 


356  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

but  you  shall  suffer  for  it !  1  am  your  match, — nay  your 
equal !  You  shall  not  spurn  me  a  second  time.  You  ask, 
will  I  love  you  when  I  know  who  you  are, — it  is  your  pleasure 
to  deal  in  mysteries,  but  I  have  no  mysteries — I  am  a  woman 
who  loves  you  with  all  the  passion  of  a  life, — and  I  will 
murder  myself  and  you,  rather  than  live  to  know  that  I  have 
prayed  you  for  your  love  in  vain.  Do  you  think  I  came  unpre- 
pared ? — no  !"  and  she  suddenly  drew  from  her  bosom  a  short 
steel  dagger  with  a  jewelled  hilt,  a  curio  I  recognised  as  one 
of  the  gifts  to  her  on  her  marriage.  *' Love  me,  I  say  ! — or 
I  will  stab  myself  dead  here  at  your  feet  and  cry  out  to 
Geoffrey  that  you  have  murdered  me  !" 

She  raised  the  weapon  aloft.  I  almost  sprang  forward — but 
I  drew  back  again  quickly  as  I  saw  Lucio  seize  the  hand  that 
held  the  dagger  and  draw  it  firmly  down, — while  wresting  the 
weapon  from  her  clutch  he  snapped  it  asunder  and  flung  the 
pieces  on  the  floor. 

"Your  place  was  the  stage,  Madam!"  he  said.  "You 
should  have  been  the  chief  female  mime  at  some  '  high- 
class'  theatre  !  You  would  have  adorned  the  boards,  drawn 
the  mob,  had  as  many  lovers,  stagey  and  private,  as  you 
pleased,  been  invited  to  act  at  Windsor,  obtained  a  payment- 
jewel  from  the  Queen,  and  written  your  name  in  her  auto- 
graph album  !  That  should  undoubtedly  have  been  your 
'  great'  career — you  were  born  for  it — made  for  it  !  You 
would  have  been  as  brute-souled  as  you  are  now, — but  that 
would  not  have  mattered, — mimes  are  exempt  from  chas- 
tity!" 

In  the  action  of  breaking  the  dagger,  and  in  the  intense 
bitterness  of  his  speech  he  had  thiust  her  back  a  few  paces 
from  him,  and  she  stood  breathless  and  white  with  rage,  eye- 
ing him  in  mingled  passion  and  terror.  For  a  moment  she 
was  silent, — then  advancing  slowly  with  the  feline  suppleness 
of  movement  which  had  given  her  a  reputation  for  grace  ex- 
ceeding that  of  any  woman  in  England,  she  said  in  deliber- 
ately measured  accents — 


THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN  357 

-"  Liicio  Rimanez,  I  have  borne  your  insults  as  I  would  bear 
my  death  at  your  hands  because  I  love  you  !  You  loathe  me, 
you  say — you  repulse  me, — I  love  you  still !  You  cannot  cast 
me  off — I  am  yours.  You  shall  love  me,  or  I  will  die, — one 
of  the  two.  Take  time  for  thought, — I  leave  you  to-night, — 
I  give  you  all  tomorrow  to  consider, — love  me, — give  me 
yourself — be  my  lover — and  I  will  play  the  comedy  of  social 
life  as  well  as  any  other  woman, — so  well  that  my  husband 
shall  never  know.  But  refuse  me  again  as  you  have  refused 
me  now,  and  I  will  make  away  with  myself.  I  am  not  '  act- 
ing,'— I  am  speaking  calmly  and  with  conviction ;  I  mean 
what  I  say." 

"  Do  you?"  queried  Lucio  coldly.  "Let  me  congratulate 
you  I     Few  women  attain  to  such  coherence  I" 

''I  will  put  an  end  to  this  life  of  mine,"  she  went  on, 
paymg  no  sort  of  heed  to  his  words.  "  I  cannot  endure  ex- 
istence without  your  love,  Lucio!"  and  a  dreary  pathos  vi- 
brated in  her  voice.  "  I  hunger  for  the  kisses  of  your  lips, — 
the  clasp  of  your  arms  !  Do  you  know — do  you  ever  think 
of  your  own  power  ? — the  cruel,  terrible  power  of  your  eyes, 
your  speech,  your  smile, — the  beauty  which  makes  you  more 
like  an  angel  than  a  man, — and  have  you  no  pity?  Do  you 
think  that  ever  a  man  was  born  like  you  ?"  He  looked  at  her 
as  she  said  this  and  a  faint  smile  rested  on  his  lips.  *'  When 
you  speak,  I  hear  music — when  you  sing,  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  understand  what  the  melodies  of  a  poet's  heaven  must 
be  ; — surely,  surely  you  know  that  your  very  looks  are  a 
snare  to  the  warm  weak  soul  of  a  woman  !  Lucio  !" — and 
emboldened  by  his  silence,  she  stole  nearer  to  him — ''meet 
me  tomorrow  in  the  lane  near  the  cottasje  of  Mavis  Clare." 

He  started  as  if  he  had  been  stung — but  not  a  word  escaped 
him. 

"  I  heard  all  you  said  to  her  the  other  night,"  she  con- 
tinued, advancing  yet  a  step  closer  to  his  side.  "  I  followed 
you, — and  I  listened.  I  was  well-nigh  mad  with  jealousy — I 
thought — I  feared — you  loved  her, — but  I  was  wrong.    I  never 


358  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

do  thank  God  for  anything, — but  I  thanked  God  that  night 
that  I  was  wrong  !  She  was  not  made  for  you — I  am  !  Meet 
me  outside  her  house,  where  the  great  white  rose-tree  is  in 
bloom — gather  one,  one  of  those  little  autumnal  roses  and 
give  it  to  me — I  shall  understand  it  as  a  signal — a  signal  that 
I  may  come  to  you  tomorrow  night,  and  not  be  cursed  or  re- 
pulsed, but  loved — loved  ! — ah  Lucio  !  promise  me  ! — one  little 
rose  ! — the  symbol  of  an  hour's  love  ! — then  let  me  die, — I 
shall  have  had  all  I  ask  of  life  !" 

With  a  sudden  swift  movement,  she  flung  herself  upon  his 
breast,  and  circling  her  arms  about  his  neck,  lifted  her  face  to 
his.  The  moonbeams  showed  me  her  eyes  alit  with  rapture, 
her  lips  trembling  with  passion,  her  bosom  heaving,  .  .  .  the 
blood  surged  up  to  my  brain  and  a  red  mist  swam  before  my 
sight,  .  .  .  would  Lucio  yield  ?  Not  he  ! — he  loosened  her 
desperate  hands  from  about  his  throat  and  forced  her  back, 
holding  her  at  arm's  length. 

"  Woman,  false  and  accursed  !"  he  said  in  tones  that  were 
sonorous  and  terrific.  ''You  know  not  what  you  seek  !  All 
that  you  ask  of  life  shall  be  yours  in  death  ! — this  is  the  law, 
therefore  beware  what  demands  you  make  lest  they  be  too  fully 
granted  !  A  rose  from  the  cottage  of  Mavis  Clare? — a  rose 
from  the  garden  of  Eden  ! — they  are  one  and  the  same  to  me  ! 
Not  for  my  gathering  or  yours  !  Love  and  joy  ?  For  the 
unfaithful  there  is  no  love, — for  the  impure  there  is  no  joy. 
Add  no  more  to  the  measure  of  my  hatred  and  vengeance  ! 
Go  while  there  is  yet  time, — go  and  front  the  destiny  you  have 
made  for  yourself — for  nothing  can  alter  it !  And  as  for  me, 
whom  you  love, — before  whom  you  have  knelt  in  idolatrous 
worship" — and  a  low,  fierce  laugh  escaped  him, — "why, — 
restrain  your  feverish  desires,  fair  fiend  ! — have  patience  ! — we 
shall  meet  ere  long  !" 

I  could  not  bear  the  scene  another  moment,  and  springing 
from  my  hiding-place  I  dragged  my  wife  away  from  him  and 
flung  myself  between  them. 

*'  Let  me  defend  you,  Lucio,  from  the  pertinacities  of  this 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  359 

wanton  !"  I  cried  with  a  wild  burst  of  laughter.  "  An  hour 
ago  I  thought  she  was  my  wife, — I  find  her  nothing  but  a 
purchased  chattel  who  seeks  a  change  of  masters !" 


XXXI 

For  one  instant  we  all  three  stood  facing  each  other, — I 
breathless  and  mad  with  fury, — Lucio  calm  and  disdainful, — 
my  wife  staggering  back  from  me,  half-swooning  with  fear. 
In  an  access  of  black  rage,  I  rushed  upon  her  and  seized  her 
in  my  arms. 

'^  I  have  heard  you  !"  I  said,  "  I  have  seen  you  !  I  have 
watched  you  kneel  before  my  true  friend,  my  loyal  comrade 
there,  and  try  your  best  to  make  him  as  vile  as  yourself !  I 
am  that  poor  fool,  your  husband, — that  'blind  egoist  whose 
confidence  you  sought  to  win— and  to  betray !  I  am  the 
unhappy  wretch  whose  surplus  of  world's  cash  has  bought  for 
him  in  marriage  a  shameless  courtesan  !  You  dare  to  talk  of 
love  ?  You  profane  its  very  name  !  Good  God  ! — what  are 
such  women  as  you  made  of?  You  throw  yourselves  into  our 
arms, — you  demand  our  care — you  exact  our  respect — you 
tempt  our  senses — you  win  our  hearts, — and  then  you  make 
fools  of  us  all !  Fools,  and  worse  than  fools, — you  make  us 
men  without  feeling,  conscience,  faith,  or  pity  !  If  we  become 
criminals,  what  wonder  !  If  we  do  things  that  shame  our  sex, 
is  it  not  because  you  set  us  the  example  !  God — God  !  I, 
who  loved  you, — yes,  loved  you  in  spite  of  all  that  my  mar- 
riage with  you  taught  me. — I,  who  would  have  died  to  save 
you  from  a  shadow  of  suspicion, — I  am  the  one  out  of  all  the 
world  you  choose  to  murder  by  your  treachery  ! ' ' 

I  loosened  my  grasp  of  her, — she  recovered  her  self-posses- 
sion by  an  effort  and  looked  at  me  straightly  with  cold  unfeel- 
ing eyes. 

''  What  did  you  marry  me  for?"  she  demanded — "  For  my 
sake  or  your  own  ?" 


36o  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAX 

I  was  silent, — too  choked  with  wrath  and  pain  to  speak. 
All  I  could  do  was  to  hold  out  my  hand  to  Lucio,  who 
grasped  it  with  a  cordial  and  sympathetic  pressure.  Yet 
...   I  fancied  he  smiled  ! 

**Was  it  because  you  desired  to  make  me  happy  out  of 
pure  love  for  me?"  pursued  Sibyl,  "or  because  you  wished 
to  add  dignity  to  your  own  position  by  wedding  the  daughter 
of  an  Earl  ?  Your  motives  were  not  unselfish, — you  chose 
me  simply  because  I  was  the  beauty  of  the  day,  whom  London 
men  stared  at  and  talked  of, — and  because  it  gave  you  a  cer- 
tain '  prestige'  to  have  me  for  your  wife,  in  the  same  way 
as  it  gave  you  a  footing  with  Royalty  to  be  the  owner  of  the 
Derby-winner.  I  told  you  honestly  what  I  was  before  our 
marriage, — it  made  no  effect  upon  your  vanity  and  egoism. 
I  never  loved  you, — I  could  not  love  you,  and  I  told  you  so. 
You  have  heard,  so  you  say,  all  that  has  passed  between  me 
and  Lucio, — therefore  you  know  why  I  married  you.  I  state 
it  boldly  to  your  face, — it  was  that  I  might  have  your  intimate 
friend  for  my  lover.  That  you  should  pretend  to  be  scan- 
dalized at  this,  is  absurd ;  it  is  a  common  position  of  things 
in  France,  and  is  becoming  equally  common  in  England. 
Morality  has  always  been  declared  unnecessary  for  men, — 
it  is  becoming  equally  unnecessary  for  women  !" 

I  stared  at  her,  amazed  at  the  glibness  of  her  speech,  and 
the  cool  convincing  manner  in  which  she  spoke,  after  her 
recent  access  of  passion  and  excitement. 

"You  have  only  to  read  the  'new'  fiction,"  she  went  on, 
a  mocking  smile  lighting  up  her  pale  face,  "and  indeed  all 
'  new'  literature  generally,  to  be  assured  that  your  ideas  of 
domestic  virtue  are  quite  out  of  date.  Both  men  and  women 
are,  according  to  certain  accepted  writers  of  the  day,  at  equal 
liberty  to  love  when  they  will  and  where  they  may.  Polyg- 
amous purity  is  the  '  new'  creed  !  Such  love,  in  fact,  so  we 
are  taught,  constitutes  the  only  'sacred'  union.  If  you  want 
to  alter  this  'movement,'  and  return  to  the  old-fashioned 
types  of  the  modest  maiden  and  the  immaculate  matron,  you 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  361 

must  sentence  all  the  '  new'  writers  of  profitable  pruriency  to 
penal  servitude  for  life,  and  institute  a  Government  censor- 
ship of  the  modern  press.  As  matters  stand,  your  attitude  of 
the  outraged  husband  is  not  only  ridiculous, — it  is  unfashion- 
able. I  assure  you  I  do  not  feel  the  slightest  prick  of  con- 
science in  saying  I  love  Lucio, — any  woman  might  be  proud 
of  loving  him  ; — he,  however,  will  not,  or  cannot  love  me, — 
we  have  had  a  'scene,'  and  you  have  completed  the  dramatic 
effect  by  witnessing  it, — there  is  no  more  to  be  said  or  done 
in  the  affair.  I  do  not  suppose  you  can  divorce  me, — but  if 
you  can,  you  may — I  shall  make  no  defence." 

She  turned,  as  if  to  go ; — I  still  stared  dumbly  at  her,  find- 
ing no  Avords  to  cope  with  her  effrontery, — when  Lucio's 
voice,  attuned  to  a  grave  and  soothing  suavity,  interposed — 

"  This  is  a  very  painful  and  distressing  state  of  things,"  he 
said,  and  the  strange  half-cynical,  half-contemptuous  smile 
still  rested  on  his  lips — "  but  I  must  positively  protest  against 
the  idea  of  divorce,  not  only  for  her  ladyship's  sake,  but  my 
own.     I  am  entirely  innocent  in  the  matter  I" 

*'  Innocent  1"  I  exclaimed,  grasping  him  again  by  the  hand. 
"  You  are  nobility  itself,  Lucio  ! — as  loyal  a  friend  as  ever  man 
had.  I  thank  you  for  your  courage, — for  the  plain  and  honest 
manner  in  which  you  have  spoken.  I  heard  all  you  said  ! 
Nothing  was  too  strong, — nothing  could  be  too  strong  to 
awaken  this  misguided  woman  to  a  sense  of  her  outrageous 
conduct, — her  unfaithfulness " 

''Pardon  me!"  he  interrupted  delicately.  "The  Lady 
Sibyl  can  scarcely  be  called  unfaithful,  Geoffrey.  She  suf- 
fers,— from — let  us  call  it,  a  little  exaltation  of  nerves  !  In 
thought  she  may  be  guilty  of  infidelity,  but  society  does  not 
know  that, — and  in  act  she  is  pure, — pure  as  the  newly-driven 
snow, — and  as  the  newly-driven  snow^,  \vill  society,  itself  im- 
maculate, regard  her  ! ' ' 

His  eyes  glittered, — I  met  his  chill  derisive  glance. 

"  You  think  as  I  do,  Lucio  !"  I  said  hoarsely.  "You  feel 
with  me,  that  a  wife's  unchaste  thought  is  as  vile  as  her  un- 
Q  31 


362  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

chaste  act.  There  is  no  excuse, — no  palliative  for  such  cruel 
and  abominable  ingratitude.  Why," — and  my  voice  rose 
unconsciously  as  I  turned  fiercely  again  towards  Sibyl, — 
'*  did  I  not  free  you  and  your  family  from  the  heavy  pressure 
of  poverty  and  debt  ?  Have  I  grudged  you  anything  ?  Are 
you  not  loaded  with  jewels? — have  you  not  greater  luxuries 
and  liberties  than  a  queen  ?  And  do  you  not  owe  me  at  least 
some  duty?" 

''  I  ow^e  you  nothing  !"  she  responded  boldly.  **  I  gave  you 
what  you  paid  for, — my  beauty  and  my  social  position.  It 
was  a  fair  bargain  !" 

**  A  dear  and  bitter  one  !"  I  cried. 

'*  Maybe  so.  But  such  as  it  was,  you  struck  it, — not  I. 
You  can  end  it  when  you  please, — the  law  ..." 

**  The  law  will  give  you  no  freedom  in  such  a  case,"  inter- 
posed Lucio  with  a  kind  of  satirical  urbanity.  *' A  judicial 
separation  on  the  ground  of  mcompatibility  of  temper  might 
be  possible  certainly — but  would  not  that  be  a  pity?  Her 
ladyship  is  unfortunate  in  her  tastes, — that  is  all  ! — she  se- 
lected me  as  her  cavaliere  scrvenfe,  and  I  refused  the  situa- 
tion,— hence  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  forget  this  un- 
pleasant incident,  and  try  to  live  on  a  better  understanding 
for  the  future." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  my  wife,  advancing  with  her  proud 
head  uplifted  in  scorn,  the  while  she  pointed  at  me, — "do 
you  think  1  will  live  with  him  after  what  he  has  seen  and 
heard  to-night  ?     What  do  you  take  me  for  !" 

*'For  a  very  charming  woman  of  hasty  impulses  and  un- 
wise reasoning,"  replied  Lucio  with  an  air  of  sarcastic  gal- 
lantry, **  Lady  Sibyl,  you  are  illogical, — most  of  your  sex  are. 
You  can  do  no  good  by  prolonging  this  scene, — a  most  un- 
pleasant and  trying  one  to  us  poor  men.  You  know  how  we 
hate  '  scenes'  !  Let  me  beg  of  you  to  retire  !  Your  duty  is 
to  your  husband  ;  pray  heaven  he  may  forget  this  midnight 
delirium  of  yours,  and  set  it  down  to  some  strange  illness 
rather  than  to  any  evil  intention.  " 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  363 

For  all  answer  she  came  towards  him,  stretching  out  her 
arms  in  wild  appeal. 

"Lucio!"  she  cried — "  Lucio,  my  love!  Good-night! — 
Good-bye  !" 

I  sprang  between  him  and  her  advancing  form. 

"Before  my  very  face!"  I  exclaimed.  ''O  infamous 
woman  !     Have  you  no  shame  ! ' ' 

"  None  !*'  she  said,  with  a  wild  smile.  **  I  glory  in  my  love 
for  such  a  king  of  worth  and  beauty  !  Look  at  him  !  — and 
then  look  at  yourself  in  the  nearest  mirror  that  reflects  so 
poor  and  mean  a  picture  of  a  man  !  How,  even  in  your 
egoism,  could  you  deem  it  possible  for  a  woman  to  love  you 
when  he  was  near  !  Stand  out  of  the  light ! — you  interpose  a 
shadow  between  my  god  and  me  !'.' 

As  she  uttered  these  mad  words  her  aspect  was  so  strange 
and  unearthly,  that  out  of  sheer  stupefied  wonder  I  mechanic- 
ally did  as  she  bade  me,  and  stood  aside.  She  regarded  me 
fixedly. 

"I  may  as  well  say  good-bye  to  you  also,"  she  observed, 
"for  I  shall  never  live  with  you  again." 

"  Nor  I  with  you  !"  1  said  fiercely. 

"Nor  I  with  you — nor  I  with  you!"  she  repeated  like  a 
child  saying  a  lesson.  "  Of  course  not ! — if  I  do  not  live  with 
you,  you  cannot  live  with  me  !"  She  laughed  discordantly; 
then  turned  her  beseeching  gaze  once  more  upon  Lucio, — 
"  Good-bye  !"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  fixity,  but  returned  no 
word  m  answer.  His  eyes  flashed  coldly  in  the  moonlight 
like  sharp  steel,  and  he  smiled.  She  regarded  him  with  such 
passionate  intentness  that  it  seemed  as  though  she  sought  to 
draw  his  very  soul  into  herself  by  the  magnetism  of  her  glance, 
— but  he  stood  unmoved,  a  very  statue  of  fine  disdain  and  in- 
tellectual self- repression.  My  scarcely  controlled  fury  broke 
out  again  at  the  sight  of  her  dumb  yearning,  and  I  gave  vent 
to  a  shout  of  scornful  laughter. 

"  By  heaven,  a  veritable  new  Venus  and  reluctant  Adonis  !" 


364  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

I  cried  deliriously.  "  A  poet  should  be  here  to  immortalize 
so  touching  a  scene!  Go— go!"  and  I  motioned  her  away 
with  a  furious  gesture.  "  Go,  if  you  do  not  want  me  to  mur- 
der you  !  Go,  with  the  proud  consciousness  that  you  have 
worked  all  the  mischief  and  ruin  that  is  naostdear  to  the  heart 
of  a  woman, — you  have  spoilt  a  life  and  dishonoured  a  name, 
— you  can  do  no  more, — your  feminine  triumph  is  complete  ! 
Go  ! — would  to  God  I  might  never  see  your  face  again  ! — 
would  to  God  I  had  been  spared  the  misery  of  having  married 
you  !" 

She  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  my  words,  but  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  on  Lucio.  Retreating  slowly,  she  seemed  to  feel 
rather  than  see  her  way  to  the  winding  stair,  and  there,  turn- 
ing, she  began  to  ascend.  Half  way  up  she  paused — looked 
back  and  fully  confronted  us  once  more, — with  a  wild  wicked 
rapture  on  her  face  she  kissed  her  hands  to  Lucio,  smiling  like 
a  spectral  woman  in  a  dream, — then  she  went  onward  and 
upward,  step  by  step,  till  the  last  white  fold  of  her  robe  had 
vanished, — and  we  two, — my  friend  and  I, — were  alone. 
Facing  one  another  we  stood,  silently, — I  met  his  sombre  eyes 
and  thought  I  read  an  infinite  compassion  in  them  ! — then, — 
while  I  yet  looked  upon  him,  something  seemed  to  clutch  my 
throat  and  stop  my  breathing, — his  dark  and  beautiful  coun- 
tenance appeared  to  me  to  grow  suddenly  lurid  as  with  fire, — 
a  coronal  of  flame  seemed  to  tremble  above  his  brows, — the 
moonlight  glistened  blood-red, — a  noise  was  in  my  ears  of 
mingled  thunder  and  music  as  though  the  silent  organ  at  the 
end  of  the  gallery  were  played  by  hands  invisible  ; — struggling 
against  these  delusive  sensations,  I  involuntarily  stretched  out 
my  hands  .   .   . 

*' Lucio!  ..."  I  gasped — ''Lucio  .  .  .  my  friend  !  .  .  . 
I  think,   .   .   .   lam,   .   .   .   dying!     My  heart  is  broken  !" 

As  I  spoke,  a  great  blackness  closed  over  me, — and  I  fell 
senseless. 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  365 


XXXII 

Oh,  the  blessedness  of  absolute  unconsciousness !  It  is 
enough  to  make  one  wish  that  death  were  indeed  annihi- 
lation !  Utter  oblivion, — complete  destruction, — surely  this 
would  be  a  greater  mercy  to  the  erring  soul  of  man  than  the 
terrible  God's-gift  of  Immortality, — the  dazzling  impress  of 
that  divine  '  Image'  of  the  Creator  in  which  we  are  all  made, 
and  which  we  can  never  obliterate  from  our  beings.  I,  who 
have  realized  to  the  full  the  unalterable  truth  of  eternal  life, — 
eternal  regeneration  for  each  individual  spirit  in  each  indi- 
vidual human  creature,  look  upon  the  endless  futures  through 
which  I  am  compelled  to  take  my  part  with  something  more 
like  horror  than  gratitude.  For  I  have  wasted  my  time  and 
thrown  away  priceless  opportunities, — and  though  repentance 
may  retrieve  these,  the  work  of  retrieval  is  long  and  bitter. 
It  is  easier  to  lose  a  glory  than  to  win  it ;  and  if  I  could 
have  died  the  death  that  positivists  hope  for  at  the  very 
moment  when  I  learned  the  full  measure  of  my  heart's 
desolation,  surely  it  would  have  been  well !  But  my  tem- 
porary swoon  was  only  too  brief, — and  when  I  recovered  I 
found  myself  in  Lucio'sown  apartment,  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  sumptuously  furnished  of  all  the  guest-chambers  at  Wil- 
lowsmere, — the  windows  were  wide  open,  and  the  floor  was 
flooded  with  moonlight.  As  I  shuddered  coldly  back  to  life 
and  consciousness,  I  heard  a  tinkling  sound  of  tune,  and 
opening  my  eyes  wearily  I  saw  Lucio  himself  seated  in  the 
full  radiance  of  the  moon  with  a  mandoline  on  his  knee  from 
which  he  was  softly  striking  delicate  impromptu  melodies.  I 
was  amazed  at  this, — astounded  that  while  I  personally  was 
overwhelmed  with  a  weight  of  woe,  he  should  still  be  capable 
of  amusing  himself.  It  is  a  common  idea  with  us  all  that 
when  we  ourselves  are  put  out,  no  one  else  should  dare  to  be 
merry, — in  fact  we  expect  Nature  itself  to  wear  a  miserable 


366  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

face  if  our  own  beloved  Ego  is  disturbed  by  any  trouble, — 
such  is  the  extent  of  our  ridiculous  self-consciousness.  I 
moved  in  my  chair  and  half  rose  from  it, — when  Lucio,  still 
thrumming  the  strings  of  his  instrument  piano  pianissimo^ 
said — 

''  Keep  still,  Geoffrey.  You'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  minutes. 
Don't  worry  yourself." 

''  Worry  myself!"  I  echoed  bitterly.  ''  Why  not  say  don't 
kill  yourself!" 

"Because  I  see  no  necessity  to  offer  you  that  advice  at 
present,"  he  responded  coolly — **  and  if  there  were  necessity, 
I  doubt  if  I  should  give  it, — because  1  consider  it  better  to  kill 
one's  self  than  worry  one's  self.  However  opinions  differ.  I 
want  you  to  take  this  matter  lightly. ' ' 

"■  Lightly  ! — take  my  own  dishonour  and  disgrace  lightly  !" 
I  exclaimed,  almost  leaping  from  my  chair.  '*  You  ask  too 
much!" 

"  My  good  fellow,  I  ask  no  more  than  is  asked  and  expected 
of  a  hundred  '  society'  husbands  to-day.  Consider  ! — your 
wife  has  been  led  away  from  her  soberer  judgment  and 
reasoning  by  an  exalted  and  hysterical  passion  for  me  on 
account  of  my  looks, — not  for  myself  at  all — because  she 
really  does  not  know  Me, — she  only  sees  me  as  I  appear  to  be. 
The  love  of  handsome  exterior  personalities  is  a  common  de- 
lusion of  the  fair  sex — and  passes  in  time  like  other  women's 
diseases.  No  actual  dishonour  or  disgrace  attaches  to  her  or 
to  you, — nothing  has  been  seen,  heard,  or  done  in  public. 
This  being  so,  I  can't  understand  what  you  are  making  a  fuss 
about.  The  great  object  of  social  life,  you  know,  is  to  hide 
all  savage  passions  and  domestic  differences  from  the  gaze  of 
the  vulgar  crowd.  You  can  be  as  bad  as  you  like  in  private — 
only  God  sees — and  that  does  not  matter  !" 

His  eyes  had  a  mocking  lustre  in  them, — twanging  his  man- 
doline, he  sang  under  his  breath — 

"If  she  be  not  fair  for  me 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  !" 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  367 

*'That  is  the  true  spirit,  Geoffrey,"  he  went  on.  "It 
sounds  flippant  to  you  no  doubt  in  your  present  tragic  frame 
of  mind — but  it  is  the  only  way  to  treat  women,  in  marriage 
or  out  of  it.  Before  the  world  and  society  your  wife  is  like 
Caesar's,  above  suspicion.  Only  you  and  I  (we  will  leave  God 
out)  have  been  the  witnesses  of  her  attack  of  hysteria  ..." 

"Hysteria,  you  call  it!  She  loves  you!"  I  said  hotly. 
"  And  she  has  always  loved  you.  She  confessed  it, — and  you 
admitted  that  you  always  knew  it !" 

"  I  always  knew  she  was  hysterical — yes — If  that  is  what  you 
mean,"  he  answered.  "  The  majority  of  women  have  no  real 
feelings,  no  serious  emotions — except  one — vanity.  They  do 
not  know  what  a  great  love  means, — their  chief  desire  is  for 
conquest, — and  failing  in  this,  they  run  up  the  gamut  of  baf- 
fled passion  to  the  pitch  of  frenetic  hysteria,  which  with  some 
becomes  chronic.  Lady  Sibyl  suffers  in  this  way.  Now  listen 
to  me.  I  will  go  off  to  Paris  or  Moscow  or  Berlin  at  once, — 
after  what  has  happened  of  course  I  cannot  stay  here, — and  I 
give  you  my  word  I  will  not  intrude  myself  into  your  domestic 
circle  again.  In  a  few  days  you  will  tide  over  this  rupture, 
and  learn  the  wisdom  of  supporting  the  differences  that  occur 
in  matrimony,  with  composure " 

"Impossible!  I  will  not  part  with  you!"  I  said  vehe- 
mently. "  Nor  will  I  live  with  her  !  Better  the  companion- 
ship of  a  true  friend  than  that  of  a  false  wife !" 

He  raised  his  eyebrows  with  a  puzzled  half-humorous  ex- 
pression— then  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  one  who  gives  up 
a  difficult  argument.  Rising,  he  put  aside  his  mandoline  and 
came  over  to  me,  his  tall  imposing  figure  casting  a  gigantic 
shadow  in  the  brilliant  moonbeams. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  put  me  in  a  very  awkward  position, 
Geoffrey, — what  is  to  be  done?  You  can  get  a  judicial 
separation  if  you  like,  but  I  think  it  would  be  an  unwise 
course  of  procedure  after  barely  four  months  of  marriage. 
The  world  would  be  set  talking  at  once.  Really  it  is  better 
to  do  anything  than  give  the  gossips  a  chance  for  floating 


368  THE   SORROWS  OF    SATAN 

scandal.  Look  here — don't  decide  anything  hastily, — come 
up  to  town  with  me  for  a  day,  and  leave  your  wife  alone  to 
meditate  upon  her  foolishness  and  its  possible  consequences, 
— then  you  will  be  better  able  to  judge  as  to  your  future 
movements.     Go  to  your  room  and  sleep  till  morning." 

''Sleep!"    I   repeated    with   a   shudder.      ''In    that   room 

where  she "  I  broke  off  with  a  cry  and   looked  at  him 

imploringly.  "  Am  I  going  mad  I  wonder  !  JMy  brain  seems 
on  fire  !  If  I  could  forget !  ...  if  I  could  forget !  Lucio 
— if  you,  my  loyal  friend,  had  been  false  to  me  I  should  have 
died, — your  truth,  your  honour  have  saved  me  !" 

He  smiled — an  odd,  cynical  little  smile. 

"Tut — I  make  no  boast  of  virtue,"  he  rejoined.  "  If  the 
lady's  beauty  had  been  any  temptation  to  me  I  might  have 
yielded  to  her  charms, — in  so  doing  I  should  have  been  no 
more  than  man,  as  she  herself  suggested.  But  perhaj^s  I  am 
more  than  man  !  at  any  rate  bodily  beauty  in  woman  makes  no 
sort  of  effect  on  me,  unless  it  is  accompanied  by  beauty  of 
soul, — then  it  does  make  an  effect,  and  a  very  extraordinary 
one.  It  provokes  me  to  try  how  deep  the  beauty  goes — 
whether  it  is  impervious  or  vulnerable.  As  I  find  it,  so  I 
leave  it." 

I  stared  wearily  at  the  moonlight  patterns  on  the  floor. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?"  I  asked.      "  What  would  you  advise  ?" 

"Come  up  to  town  with  me,"  he  replied.  "You  can 
leave  a  note  for  your  wife,  explaining  your  absence, — and  at 
one  of  the  clubs  we  will  talk  over  the  matter  quietly,  and 
decide  how  best  to  avoid  a  social  scandal.  Meanwhile,  go 
to  bed.  If  you  won't  go  back  to  your  own  room,  sleep  in 
the  spare  one  next  to  mine." 

I  rose  mechanically  and  prepared  to  obey  him.  He  watched 
me  furtively. 

"  Will  you  take  a  composing  draught  if  I  mix  it  for  you?" 
he  said.  "It's  harmless,  and  will  give  you  a  few  hours' 
sleep." 

"  I  would  take  poison  from  your  hand  !"  I  answered  reck- 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  369 

lessly.      *'  Why  don't  you  mix  that  for  me? — and  then,   .   .   , 
then  I  should  sleep  indeed, — and  forget  this  horrible  night !" 

''  No, — unfortunately  you  would  not  forget !"  he  said,  going 
to  his  dressing-case  and  taking  out  a  small  white  powder 
which  he  dissolved  gradually  in  a  glass  of  water.  "  That  is 
the  worst  of  what  people  call  dying.  I  must  instruct  you  in 
a  little  science  by-and-by,  to  distract  your  thoughts.  The 
scientific  part  of  death, — the  business  that  goes  on  behind 
the  scenes  you  know — will  interest  you  very  much — it  is 
highly  instructive,  particularly  that  section  of  it  which  I  am 
entitled  to  call  the  regeneration  of  atoms.  The  brain-cells 
are  atoms,  and  within  these  are  other  atoms  called  memories, 
curiously  vital  and  marvellously  prolific!  Drink  this,"  and 
he  handed  me  the  mixture  he  had  prepared.  ''  For  temporary 
purposes  it  is  much  better  than  death— because  it  does  numb 
and  paralyze  the  conscious  atoms  for  a  little  while,  whereas 
death  only  liberates  them  to  a  larger  and  more  obstinate 
vitality." 

I  was  too  self-absorbed  to  heed  or  understand  his  words, 
but  I  drank  what  he  gave  me  submissively  and  returned  the 
glass, — he  still  watched  me  closely  for  about  a  minute  Then 
he  opened  the  door  of  the  apartment  which  adjoined  his  own. 

"Throw  yourself  on  that  bed  and  close  }Our  eyes,"  he 
continued  in  somewhat  peremptory  accents.  "Till  morning 
breaks  I  give  you  a  respite," — and  he  smiled  strangely, — 
"both  from  dreams  and  memories!  Plunge  into  Oblivion, 
my  friend  ! — brief  as  it  is  and  as  it  must  ever  be,  it  is  sweet ! 
— even  to  a  millionaire  !" 

The  ironical  tone  of  his  voice  vexed  me, — I  looked  at  him 
half  reproachfully,  and  saw  his  proud  beautiful  face,  pale  as 
marble,  clear  cut  as  a  cameo,  soften  as  I  met  his  eyes, — I  felt 
he  was  sorry  for  me  despite  his  love  of  satire, — and  grasping 
his  hand  I  pressed  it  fervently  without  offering  any  other 
reply.  Then,  going  into  the  next  room  as  he  bade  me,  I  lay 
down,  and  falling  asleep  almost  instantly,  I  remembered  no 
more. 

y 


370  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


XXXIII 

With  the  morning  came  full  consciousness ;  I  realized  bit- 
terly all  that  had  happened,  but  I  was  no  longer  inclined  to 
bemoan  my  fate.  My  senses  were  stricken,  as  it  seemed,  too 
numb  and  rigid  for  any  further  outbreak  of  passion.  A  hard 
callousness  took  the  place  of  outraged  feeling  ;  and  though 
despair  was  in  my  heart,  my  mind  was  made  up  to  one  stern 
resolve, — I  would  look  upon  Sibyl  no  more.  Never  again 
should  that  fair  face,  the  deceitful  mask  of  a  false  nature, 
tempt  my  sight  and  move  me  to  pity  or  forgiveness,  —  that  I 
determined.  Leaving  the  room  in  which  I  had  passed  the 
night  I  went  to  my  study  and  wrote  the  following  letter : 

Sibyl, 

After  the  degrading  and  disgraceful  scene  of  last 
night  you  must  be  aware  that  any  further  intercourse  between 
us  is  impossible.  Prince  Rimanez  and  I  are  leaving  for  Lon- 
don ;  we  shall  not  return.  You  can  continue  to  reside  at 
Willowsmere, — the  house  is  yours, — and  the  half  of  my  fortune 
unconditionally  settled  upon  you  on  our  marriage-day  will 
enable  you  to  keep  up  the  fashions  of  your  *  set,'  and  live 
with  that  luxury  and  extravagance  you  deem  necessary  to  an 
'  aristocratic'  position.  I  have  decided  to  travel, — and  I  in- 
tend to  make  such  arrangements  as  may  prevent,  if  possible, 
our  ever  meeting  again,  though  I  shall  of  course  do  my  best 
for  my  own  sake,  to  avoid  any  scandal.  To  reproach  you  for 
your  conduct  would  be  useless  ;  you  are  lost  to  all  sense  of 
shame.  You  have  abased  yourself  in  the  humiliation  of  a 
guilty  passion  before  a  man  who  despises  you,  — who,  in  his 
own  loyal  and  noble  nature,  hates  you  for  your  infidelity  and 
hypocrisy, — and  I  can  find  no  i;ardon  for  the  wrong  you  have 
thus  done  to  me,  and  the  injury  you  have  brought  upon  my 
name.  I  leave  you  to  the  judL;ment  of  your  own  conscience, 
—  if  you  have  one, — which  is  doubtful.     Such  women  as  you 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  371 

are  seldom  troubled  with  remorse.  It  is  not  likely  you  will 
ever  see  me  or  the  man  to  whom  you  have  offered  your  unde- 
sired  love,  again, — make  of  your  life  what  you  can  or  will,  I 
am  indifferent  to  your  movements,  and  for  my  own  part,  shall 
endeavour  as  much  as  may  be,  to  forget  that  you  exist. 
Your  husband 

Geoffrey  Tempest. 

This  letter,  folded  and  sealed,  I  sent  to  my  wife  in  her  own 
apartments,  by  her  maid, — the  girl  came  back  and  said  she 
had  delivered  it,  but  that  there  was  no  answer.  Her  ladyship 
had  a  severe  headache  and  meant  to  keep  her  room  that  morn- 
ing. I  expressed  just  as  much  civil  regret  as  a  confidential 
maid  would  naturally  expect  from  the  newly-wed ded  husband 
of  her  mistress, — and  then,  giving  instructions  to  my  man 
Morris  to  pack  my  portmanteau,  I  partook  of  a  hurried  break- 
fast with  Lucio  in  more  or  less  silence  and  constraint,  for  the 
servants  were  in  attendance,  and  I  did  not  wish  them  to  sus- 
pect that  anything  was  wrong.  For  their  benefit,  I  gave  out 
that  my  friend  and  I  were  called  suddenly  to  town  on  urgent 
business, — that  we  might  be  absent  a  couple  of  days,  perhaps 
longer, — and  that  any  special  message  or  telegram  could  be 
sent  on  to  me  at  Arthur's  Club.  I  was  thankful  when  we  at 
last  got  away, — when  the  tall  picturesque  red  gables  of  Wil- 
lowsmere  vanished  from  my  sight, — and  when  finally,  seated 
in  a  railway  smoking-carriage  reserved  for  our  two  selves  we 
were  able  to  watch  the  miles  of  distance  gradually  extending 
between  us  and  the  beautiful  autumnal  woods  of  poet-haunted 
Warwickshire.  For  a  long  time  we  kept  silence,  turning  over 
and  pretending  to  read  the  morning's  papers, — till  presently 
flinging  down  the  dull  and  wearisome  '  Times'  sheet,  I  sighed 
heavily,  and  leaning  back,  closed  my  eyes. 

"  I  am  truly  very  much  distressed  about  all  this,"  said 
Lucio  then,  with  extreme  gentleness  and  suavity.  ''  It  seems 
to  me  that  /am  the  adverse  element  in  the  affair.  If  Lady 
Sibyl  had  never  seen  me " 


372  THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

''Why,  then  I  should  never  have  seen  her/''  I  responded 
bitterly.      ''  It  was  through  you  I  met  her  first." 

**True!"  and  he  eyed  me  thoughtfully.  ''lam  very  un- 
fortunately placed ! — it  is  almos:  as  if  I  were  to  blame, 
though  no  one  could  be  more  innocent  or  well-intentioned 
than  myself!"  He  smiled, — then  wxnt  on  very  gravely — 
"  1  really  should  avoid  scandalous  gossip  if  I  were  you, — 1  do 
not  speak  of  my  own  involuntary  share  in  the  disaster, — 
what  people  say  of  me  is  quite  immaterial ;  but  for  the  lady's 
sake " 

"  For  my  own  sake  I  shall  try  to  avoid  it,"  I  said  brusquely, 
whereat  his  eyes  glittered  strangely.  "It  is  myself  I  have  to 
consider  most  of  all.  I  shall,  as  I  hinted  to  you  this  morn- 
ing, travel  for  a  few  years. ' ' 

"Yes, — go  on  a  tiger-hunting  expedition  in  India,"  he 
suggested — "  or  kill  elephants  in  Africa.  It  is  what  a  great 
many  men  do  when  their  wives  forget  themselves.  Several 
well-known  husbands  are  abroad  just  now  I" 

Again  the  brilliant  enigmatical  smile  flashed  over  his  face, 
— but  I  could  not  smile  in  answer.  I  stared  moodily  out  of 
the  window  at  the  bare  autumnal  fields  past  which  the  train 
flew,  — bare  of  harvest, — stripped  of  foliage — like  my  own 
miserable  life. 

"Come  and  winter  with  me  in  Egypt,"  he  continued. 
"  Come  in  my  yacht  '  The  Flame,' — we  will  take  her  to 
Alexandria, — and  then  do  the  Nile  in  a  dahabeah,  and  forget 
that  such  frivolous  dolls  as  women  exist,  except  to  be  played 
with  by  us  '  superior'  creatures  and  thrown  aside." 

"Egypt — the  Nile!"  I  murmured,  — somehow  the  idea 
pleased  me.      "  Yes, — why  not?" 

"  Why  not  indeed  !"  he  echoed.  "  The  proposal  is  agree- 
able to  you  I  am  sure.  Come  and  see  the  land  of  the  old  gods, 
— the  land  where  my  princess  used  to  live  and  torture  the  souls 
of  men  ! — perhaps  we  may  discover  the  remains  of  her  last 
victim, — who  knows  I" 

I  avoided  his  gaze  ; — the  recollection  of  the  horrible  winged 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  373 

thing  he  persisted  in  imagining  to  be  the  transmigrated  soul 
of  an  evil  woman,  was  repugnant  to  me.  Ahnost  I  felt  as  if 
there  were  some  subtle  connection  between  that  hateful  creature 
and  my  wife  Sibyl.  I  was  glad  when  the  train  reached  London, 
and  we,  taking  a  hansom,  were  plunged  into  the  ver\  vortex 
of  human  life.  The  perpetual  noise  of  traffic,  the  motley 
crowds  of  people,  the  shouting  of  news-boys  and  omnibus- 
conductors, — all  this  hubbub  was  grateful  to  my  ear.s,  and  for 
a  time  at  least,  distracted  my  thoughts.  We  lunched  at  the 
Savoy,  and  amused  ourselves  with  noting  the  town  noodles  of 
fashion, — the  inane  young  man  in  the  stocks  of  the  stiff  high 
collar,  and  wearing  the  manacles  of  equally  stiff  and  exag- 
gerated cuffs,  a  veritable  prisoner  in  the  dock  of  silly  custom, 
the  frivolous  fool  of  a  w'oman,  painted  and  powdered,  with 
false  hair  and  dyed  eyebrows,  trying  to  look  as  much  like 
a  paid  courtesan  as  possible, — the  elderly  matron,  skipping 
forward  on  high  heels,  and  attempting  by  the  assum.ption  of 
juvenile  airs  and  graces  to  cover  up  and  conceal  the  obtrusive 
facts  of  a  too  obvious  paunch  and  overlapping  bosom, — the 
would-be  dandy  and  '  beau'  of  seventy,  strangely  possessed  by 
youthful  desires  and  manifesting  the  same  by  goat-like  caper- 
ings  at  the  heels  of  young  married  women, — these  and  such- 
like contemptible  units  of  a  contemptible  social  swarm,  passed 
before  us  like  puppets  at  a  country  fair,  and  aroused  us  in  turn 
to  laughter  or  disdain.  While  we  yet  lingered  over  our  wine, 
a  man  came  in  alone,  and  sat  down  at  the  table  next  to  ours ; 
— he  had  with  him  a  book  which,  after  giving  his  orders  for 
luncheon,  he  at  once  opened  at  a  marked  place  and  began  to 
read  with  absorbed  attention.  I  recognised  the  cover  of  the 
volume  and  knew  it  to  be  Mavis  Clare's  '*  Differences."  A 
haze  floated  before  my  sight, — a  sensation  of  rising  tears  was 
in  my  throat, — I  saw  the  fair  face,  earnest  eyes  and  sweet  smile 
of  Mavis, — that  woman-wearer  of  the  laurel-crown, — that 
keeper  of  the  lilies  of  purity  and  peace.  Alas,  those  lilies  ! — 
they  were  for  me 


32 


374  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

"  des  Heurs  etranges,- 
Avec  leurs  airs  de  sceptres  d'anges  ; 
De  thyrses  lutnineux  pour  doigts  de  seraphins, — 
Leurs  parfums  sont  trop  torts,  tout  ensemble,  et  trop  fins  !" 

I  shaded  my  eyes  with  one  hand, — }et  under  that  shade  I 
felt  that  Lucio  watched  me  closely.  Presently  he  spoke  softly, 
just  as  if  he  had  read  my  thoughts. 

*'  Considering  the  effect  a  perfectly  innocent  woman  has  on 
the  mind  of  even  an  evil  man,  it's  strange,  isn't  it,  that  there 
are  so  few  of  them  !" 

I  did  not  answer. 

**  In  the  present  day,"  he  went  on,  "  there  are  a  number  of 
females  clamouring  like  unnatural  hens  in  a  barn-yard  about 
their  '  rights'  and  '  wrongs. '  Their  greatest  right,  their  highest 
privilege  is  to  guide  and  guard  the  souls  of  men.  I'his,  they 
for  the  most  part,  throw  away  as  worthless.  Aristocratic 
women,  royal  women  even,  hand  over  the  care  of  their  chil- 
dren to  hired  attendants  and  inferiors,  and  then  are  surprised 
and  injured  if  those  children  turn  out  to  be  either  fools  or 
blackguards.  If  I  were  controller  of  the  State,  I  would  make 
it  a  law  that  every  mother  should  be  bound  to  nurse  and  guard 
her  children  herself  as  nature  intended,  unless  prevented  by 
ill-health,  in  which  case  she  would  have  to  get  a  couple  of 
doctors'  certificates  to  certify  the  fact.  Otherwise,  any  woman 
refu-ing  to  comply  with  the  law  should  be  sentenced  to  im- 
prisonment with  hard  labour.  This  would  bring  them  to  their 
senses.  The  idleness,  wickedness,  extravagance  and  selfishness 
of  women,  make  men  the  boors  and  egotists  they  are." 

I  looked  up. 

"The  devil  is  in  the  whole  business,"  I  said  bitterly.  **  If 
women  were  good,  men  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  them. 
Look  round  you  at  what  is  called  *  society'  !  How  many 
men  there  are  who  deliberately  choose  tamted  women  for 
their  wives,  and  leave  the  innocent  uncared  for  !  Take  Mavis 
Clare " 

-^•Edmond  Eostand.     '  La  Prtncesse  Lointaine.' 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  375 

"Oh  you  were  thinking  of  Mavis  Clare,  were  you?"  he 
rejoined,  with  a  quick  glance  at  me.  "  But  she  would  be  a 
difficult  prize  for  any  man  to  win.  She  does  not  seek  to  be 
married, — and  she  is  not  uncared  for,  since  the  whole  world 
cares  for  her. ' ' 

"  That  is  a  sort  of  impersonal  love,"  I  answered.  "  It  does 
not  give  her  the  protection  such  a  woman  needs,  and  ought  to 
obtain." 

"Do  you  want  to  become  her  lover?"  he  asked  with  a 
slight  smile.      "  I'm  afraid  you've  no  chance." 

"I!  Her  lover!  Good  God!"  I  exclaimed,  the  blood 
rushing  hotly  to  my  face  at  the  mere  suggestion.  "  What  a 
profane  idea !" 

"  You  are  right, — it  is  profane,"  he  agreed,  still  smiling. 
*'It  is  as  though  I  should  propose  your  stealing  the  sacra- 
mental cup  from  a  church,  wiih  just  this  difference, — you 
might  succeed  in  running  off  with  the  cup  because  it  is  only 
the  church's  property,  but  you  would  never  succeed  in  win- 
ning Mavis  Clare,  inasmuch  as  she  belongs  to  God.  You 
know  what  Milton  says : 

'  So  dear  to  Heaven  is  saintly  chastity 
That  when  a  soul  is  found  sincerely  so, 
A  thousand  liveried  angels  lacquey  her, 
Driving  far  off  each  thing  of  sin  and  guilt, 
And  in  clear  dream  and  solemn  vision 
Tell  her  of  things  which  no  gross  ear  can  hear, 
Till  oft  converse  with  heavenly  habitants 
Begin  to  cast  a  beam  on  th'outward  shape 
The  unpolluted  temple  of  the  mind, 
And  turns  it  by  degrees  to  the  soul's  essence 
Till  all  be  made  immortal  1" 

He  quoted  the  lines  softly  and  with  an  exquisite  gravity. 

"That  is  what  you  see  in  Mavis  Clare,"  he  continued — 
"  that  '  beam  on  the  outward  shape'  which  '  turns  it  by  degrees 
to  the  soul's  essence,' — and  which  makes  her  beautiful  without 
what  is  called  beauty  by  lustful  men. ' ' 


376  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

I  moved  impatiently,  and  looked  out  from  the  window  near 
which  we  were  seated,  at  the  yellow  width  of  the  flowing 
Thames  below. 

"Beauty,  according  to  man's  ordinary  standard,"  pursued 
Lucio,  "  means  simply  good  flesh, — nothing  more.  Flesh, 
arranged  prettily  and  roundly  on  the  always  ugly  skeleton  be- 
neath,— flesh,  daintily  coloured  and  soft  to  the  touch  without 
scar  or  blemish.  P.enty  of  it  too,  disposed  in  the  jjroper 
places.  It  is  the  most  perishable  sort  of  commodity, — an  ill- 
ness spoils  it, — a  trying  c  imate  ruins  it, — age  wrinkles  it, — 
death  destroys  it, — but  it  is  all  the  majority  of  men  look  for 
in  their  bargains  with  the  fair  sex.  The  most  utter  ro/ie  of 
sixty  that  ever  trotted  jauntily  down  Piccadilly  pretending  to 
be  thirty,  expects  like  Shylock  his  '  pound'  or  several  pounds 
of  youthful  flesh.  The  desire  is  neither  refined  nor  intellec- 
tual, but  there  it  is, — and  it  is  solely  on  this  account  that  the 
Madies'  of  the  music-hall  become  the  tainted  members  and 
future  mothers  of  the  aristocracy." 

*'  It  does  not  need  the  ladies  of  the  music-hall  to  taint  the 
already  tainted  !"  I  said. 

*'  True  !"  and  he  looked  at  me  wnth  kindly  commiseration. 
"  Let  us  put  the  whole  misch'ef  down  to  the  '  new'  fiction  !" 

We  rose  then,  having  finished  luncheon,  and  leaving  the 
Savoy  we  went  on  to  Arthur's.  Here  we  sat  down  in  a  quiet 
corner  and  began  to  talk  of  our  future  p'ans.  It  took  me  very 
little  time  to  make  up  my  mind, — all  quarters  of  the  world 
were  the  same  to  me,  and  I  was  really  indifferent  as  to  where 
I  went.  Yet  there  is  always  something  suggestive  and  fasci- 
nating about  the  idea  of  a  first  visit  to  Egypt,  and  I  willingly 
agreed  to  accompany  Lucio  thither  and  remain  the  winter. 

*'  We  will  avoid  society,"  he  said.  "  The  well-bred,  well- 
educated  '  swagger'  people  who  throw  champagne-bottles  at 
the  Sphinx,  and  think  a  donkey-race  'ripping  fun'  shall  not 
have  the  honour  of  our  company.  Cairo  is  full  of  such 
dancing  dolls,  so  we  will  not  stay  there.  Old  Nile  has  many 
attractions ;  and  lazy  luxury  on  a  dahabeah  will  soothe  }Our 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


377 


overwrought  nerves.  I  suggest  our  leaving  England  within  a 
week." 

1  consented, — and  while  he  went  over  to  a  table  and  wrote 
some  letters  in  preparation  for  our  journey,  I  looked  through 
the  day's  papers.  There  was  nothing  to  read  in  them, — for 
though  all  the  world's  news  palpitates  into  Gieat  Britain  on 
obediently  throbbing  electric  wires,  each  editor  of  each  little 
pennyworth,  being  jealous  of  every  other  editor  of  every  other 
pennyworth,  only  admits  into  his  columns  exactly  what  suits 
his  politics  or  personally  pleases  his  taste,  and  the  interests 
of  the  public  at  large  are  scarcely  considered.  Poor,  bam- 
boozled, patient  public  ! — no  wonder  it  is  beginning  to  think 
that  a  halfpenny  spent  on  a  newspaper  which  is  only  pur- 
chased 10  be  thrown  away,  enough  and  more  than  enough. 
I  was  still  glancing  up  and  down  the  heavy  columns  of  the 
Americanized  "Pall  Mall  Gazette,"  and  Lucio  was  still 
writing,  when  a  page-boy  entered  with  a  telegram. 

"Mr  Tempest?" 

"Yes."  And  I  snatched  the  yellow-covered  missive  and 
tore  it  open, — and  read  the  few  words  it  contained  almost 
uncomprehendingly.     They  ran  thus — 

"  Relurn  at  once.  Something  alarming  has  happened. 
Afraid  to  act  without  you.     Mavis  Clare." 

A  curious  chill  came  over  me,  — the  telegram  fell  from  my 
hands  on  the  table.  Lucio  took  it  up  and  glanced  at  it. 
Then,  regarding  me  stedfastly,  he  said — 

"Of  course  you  must  go.  You  can  catch  the  four-forty 
train  if  you  take  a  hansom." 

"And  you?"  I  muttered.  My  throat  was  dry  and  I  could 
scarcely  speak. 

"I'll  stay  at  the  Grand,  and  wait  for  news.  Don't  delay 
a  moment,— Miss  Clare  would  not  have  taken  it  upon  herself 
to  send  this  message,  unless  there  had  been  serious  cause." 

"What  do  you  think — what  do  you  suppose "  I  began. 

He  stopped  me  by  a  slight  imperative  gesture. 

32* 


378  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

**  I  think  nothing — 1  suppose  nothing.  I  only  urge  you  to 
start  immediately.     Come!" 

And  almost  before  I  realized  it,  he  had  taken  me  with  him 
out  into  the  hall  of  the  club,  where  he  helped  me  on  with  my 
coat,  gave  me  my  hat,  and  sent  for  a  cab  to  take  me  to  the 
railway  station.  We  scarcely  exchanged  farewells, — stupefied 
with  the  suddenness  of  the  unexpected  summons  back  to  the 
home  I  had  left  in  the  morning,  as  I  thought,  for  ever,  I 
hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing  or  where  I  was  going,  till  I 
found  myself  alone  in  the  train,  returning  to  Warwickshire  as 
fast  as  steam  would  bear  me,  with  the  gloom  of  the  deepen- 
ing dusk  around  me,  and  such  a  fear  and  horror  at  my  heart 
as  I  dared  not  think  of  or  define.  What  was  the  '  something 
alarming'  that  had  happened  ?  How  was  it  that  Mavis  Clare 
had  telegraphed  lo  me?  These,  and  endless  o.her  questions 
tormented  my  brain, — and  I  was  afraid  to  suggest  answers  to 
any  of  them.  When  I  arrived  at  the  familiar  station,  there 
was  no  one  waiting  to  receive  me,  so  I  hired  a  fly,  and  was 
driven  up  to  my  own  house  just  as  the  short  evening  deepened 
into  night.  A  low  autumnal  wind  was  sighing  restlessly  among 
the  trees  like  a  wandering  soul  in  torment, — not  a  star  shone 
in  the  black  depths  of  the  sky.  Directly  the  carriage  stopped, 
a  slim  figure  in  white  came  out  under  the  porch  to  meet  me, — 
it  was  Mavis,  her  angel's  face  grave  and  pale  with  emotion. 

*'  It  is  you  at  last !"  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  Thank 
God  you  have  come  !" 


XXXIV 


I  GRASPED  her  hands  hard. 

''What  is  it?"  I  began; — then,  looking  round  I  saw  that 
the  hall  was  full  of  panic-stricken  servants,  some  of  whom 
came  forward,  confusedly  murmuring  together  about  being 
'afraid'  and  'not  knowing  what  to  do.'  I  motioned  them 
back  by  a  gesture  and  turned  again  to  Mavis  Clare. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  379 

"  Tell  me, — quick — what  is  wrong?" 

"We  fear  something  has  hapi)ened  to  Lady  Sibyl,"  she 
replied  at  once.  "  Her  rooms  are  locked,  and  we  cannot 
make  her  hear.  Her  maid  got  alarmed,  and  ran  over  to  my 
house  to  ask  me  what  was  best  to  be  done, — I  came  at  once, 
and  knocked  and  called,  but  could  get  no  response.  You 
know  the  windows  are  too  high  to  reach  from  the  ground, — 
there  is  no  ladder  on  the  premises  long  enough  for  the  purpose, 
and  no  one  can  climb  up  that  side  of  the  building.  I  begged 
some  of  the  servants  to  break  open  the  door  by  force, — but 
they  would  not, — they  were  all  afraid;  and  I  did  not  like  to 
act  on  my  own  responsibility,  so  I  telegraphed  for  you " 

I  sprang  away  from  her  before  she  had  finished  speaking 
and  hurried  upstairs  at  once, — outside  the  door  of  the  ante- 
room which  led  into  my  wife's  luxurious  '  suite'  of  apartments, 
I  paused  breathless. 

''Sibyl  !"  I  cried. 

There  was  not  a  sound.  Mavis  had  followed  me,  and  stood 
by  my  side  trembling  a  little.  Two  or  three  of  the  servants 
had  also  crept  up  the  stairs,  and  were  clinging  to  the  banisters, 
listening  nervously. 

"Sibyl  !"  I  called  again.  Still  absolute  silence.  I  turned 
round  upon  the  waiting  and  anxious  domestics  with  an  assump- 
tion of  calmness. 

'•Lady  Sibyl  is  probably  not  in  her  rooms  at  all,"  I  said. 
"  She  may  have  gone  out  unobserved.  This  door  of  the  ante- 
chamber has  a  spring-lock, — it  can  easily  get  fast  shut  by  the 
merest  accident.  Bring  a  strong  hammer, — or  a  crowbar, — 
anything  that  will  break  it  open, — if  you  had  had  sense  you 
would  have  obeyed  Miss  Clare,  and  done  this  a  couple  of 
hours  ago." 

And  I  waited  with  enforced  composure,  while  my  instruc- 
tions were  carried  out  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Two  of  the  men- 
servants  appeared  with  the  necessary  tools,  and  very  soon  the 
house  resounded  with  clamour, — blow  after  blow  was  dealt 
upon  the  solid  oaken  door  for  some  time  without  success, — the 


38o  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

spring-lock  would  not  yield, — neither  would  the  strong  hinges 
give  way.  Presently,  however,  after  ten  minutes'  hard  labour, 
one  of  the  finely  carved  panels  was  smashed  in, — then  another, 
— and,  springing  over  the  debris,  I  rushed  through  the  ante- 
room into  the  boudoir, — then  paused,  listening,  and  calling 
again,  ''Sibyl!"  No  one  followed  me, — some  indefinable 
instinct,  some  nameless  dread,  held  the  servants  back,  and 
Mavis  Clare  as  well.  I  was  alone,  .  .  .  and  in  complete 
darkness.  Groping  about,  with  my  heart  beating  furiously, 
I  sought  for  the  ivory  button  in  the  wall  which  would,  at 
pressure,  flood  the  rooms  with  electric  light,  but  somehow  I 
could  r^ot  find  it.  My  hand  came  in  contact  with  various 
familiar  things  which  I  lecognised  by  touch, — rare  bits  of 
china,  bronzes,  vases,  pictures, — costly  trifles  that  were 
heaped  up,  as  I  knew,  m  this  particular  apartment  with  a 
lavish  luxury  and  disregard  of  cost  befitting  a  wanton  eastern 
empress  of  old  time, — cautiously  feeling  my  way  along,  I 
started  with  terror  to  see,  as  I  thought,  a  tall  figure  outline 
itself  suddenly  against  the  darkness, — white,  spectral  and 
luminous, — a  figure  that,  as  I  stared  at  it  aghast,  raised  a 
pallid  hand  and  pointed  me  forward  with  a  menacing  air  of 
scorn.  In  my  dazed  horror  at  this  apparition,  or  delusion,  I 
stumbled  over  the  heavy  trailing  folds  of  a  velvet /^r//(?;r,  and 
knew  by  this  that  1  had  passed  from  the  boudoir  into  the  ad- 
joining bedroom.  Again  I  stopped,  —  calling,  "Sibyl!"  but 
my  voice  had  scarcely  strength  enough  to  raise  itself  above  a 
whisper.  Giddy  and  confused  as  I  was,  I  remembered  that 
the  electric  light  in  this  room  was  fixed  at  the  side  of  the 
toilet-table,  and  I  stepped  hurriedly  in  that  direction,  when 
all  at  once  in  the  thick  gloom  I  touched  something  clammy 
and  cold  like  dead  flesh,  and  brushed  against  a  garment  that 
exhaled  faint  perfume,  and  rustled  at  my  touch  with  a  silken 
sound.  This  alarmed  me  more  thoroughly  than  the  spectre 
I  fancied  I  had  just  seen, — I  drew  back  shudderingly  against 
the  wall, — and  in  so  doing,  my  fingers  involuntarily  closed  on 
the  polished  ivory  stud,  which,  like  a  fairy  talisman  in  modern 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  381 

civilization,  emits  radiance  at  the  owner's  will,  I  pressed  it 
nervously, — the  light  blazed  forth  through  the  rose-tinted 
shells  which  shaded  its  dazzling  clearness,  and  showed  me 
where  I  stood,  .  .  .  within  an  arm's  length  of  a  strange,  stiff 
white  creature,  that  sat  staring  at  itself  in  the  silver- framed 
mirror  with  wide-open,  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

"Sibyl!"  I  gasped.  "My  wife  .  .  .  !"  but  the  words 
died  chokingly  in  my  throat.  Was  it  indeed  my  wife  ! — this 
frozen  statue  of  a  woman,  watching  her  own  impassive  image 
thus  intently  !  I  looked  upon  her  wonderingly, — doubtingly, 
— as  if  she  were  some  stranger ; — it  took  me  time  to  recognise 
her  features,  and  the  bronze-gold  darkness  of  her  long  hair 
which  fell  loosely  about  her  in  a  lavish  wealth  of  rippling 
waves,  .  .  .  her  left  hand  hung  limply  over  the  arm  of  the 
chair  in  which,  like  some  carven  ivory  goddess,  she  sat  en- 
throned,— and  tremblingly,  slowly,  reluctantly,  I  advanced  and 
took  that  hand.  Cold  as  ice  it  lay  in  my  palm  much  as 
though  it  were  a  waxen  model  of  itself; — it  glittered  with 
jewels, — and  I  studied  every  ring  upon  it  with  a  curious,  dull 
pertinacity,  like  one  who  seeks  a  clue  to  identity.  That  large 
turquoise  in  a  diamond  setting  was  a  marriage-gift  from  a 
duchess, — that  opal  her  father  gave  her, — the  lustrous  circle 
of  sapphires  and  brilliants  surmounting  her  wedding-ring  was 
my  gift, — that  ruby  I  seemed  to  know, — well  well !  what  a 
mass  of  sparkling  value  wasted  on  such  fragile  clay  !  I  peered 
into  her  face, — then  at  the  reflection  of  that  face  in  the 
mirror, — and  again  I  grew  perplexed, —was  it,  could  it  be 
Sibyl  after  all  ?  Sibyl  was  beautiful,  —this  dead  thing  had  a 
devilish  smile  on  its  blue,  parted  lips,  and  frenzied  horror  in 
its  eyes  !  Suddenly  something  tense  in  my  brain  seemed  to 
snap  and  give  way, — dropping  the  chill  fingers  I  held,  I  cried 
aloud 

"  Mavis  !     Mavis  Clare  !" 

In  a  moment  she  was  with  me, — in  a  glance  she  compre- 
hended all.  Falling  on  her  knees  by  the  dead  woman  she 
broke  into  a  passion  of  weeping. 


3^2  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"Oh,  poor  girl!"  she  cried — '*  Oh,  poor,  unhappy,  mis- 
guided girl !" 

I  stared  at  her  gloomily.  It  seemed  to  me  very  strange 
that  she  should  weep  for  sorrows  not  her  own.  There  was  a 
fire  in  my  brain, — a  confused  trouble  in  my  thoughts, — I 
looked  at  my  dead  wife  with  her  fixed  gaze  and  evil  smile, 
sitting  rigidly  upright,  and  robed  in  the  mocking  sheen  of  her 
rose-silk  peignoir,  showered  with  old  lace,  after  the  costliest 
of  Paris  fashions, — then  at  the  living,  tender-souled,  earnest 
creature,  famed  for  her  genius  throughout  the  world,  who 
knelt  on  the  ground,  sobbing  over  the  stiffening  hand  on 
which  so  many  rare  gems  glistened  derisively, — and  an  im- 
pulse rose  in  me  stronger  than  myself,  moving  me  lo  wild  and 
clamorous  speech. 

"  Get  up.  Mavis  !"  I  cried.  "  Do  not  kneel  there  !  Go, — 
go  out  of  this  room, — out  of  my  sight !  You  do  not  know 
what  she  was — this  woman  whom  I  married, — I  deemed  her 
an  angel,  but  she  was  a  fiend, — yes,  Mavis,  a  fiend  !  Look  at 
her  staring  at  her  own  image  in  the  glass, — you  cannot  call 
her  beautiful — 7iow  /  She  smiles,  you  see, — just  as  she  smiled 
last  night  when,  .  .  .  ah,  you  know  nothing  of  last  night ! 
I  tell  you,  go!"  and  I  stamped  my  foot  almost  furiously. 
*'  This  air  is  contaminated, — it  will  poison  you  !  The  per- 
fume of  Paris  and  the  effluvia  of  death  intermingled  are  suffi- 
cient to  breed  a  pestilence  !  Go  quickly, — inform  the  house- 
hold their  mistress  is  dead, — have  the  blinds  drawn  down, — 
show  all  the  exterior  signs  of  decent  and  fashionable  woe,"  — 
and  1  began  laughing  deliriously.  **Tell  the  servants  they 
may  count  upon  expensive  mourning, — for  all  that  money  can 
do  shall  be  done  in  homage  to  King  Death  !  Let  everyone 
in  the  place  eat  and  drink  as  much  as  they  can  or  will, — and 
sleep,  or  chatter  as  such  menials  love  to  do,  of  hearses,  graves 
and  sudden  disasters  ; — but  let  ;;/<?  be  left  alone, — alone  with 
/ler ; — we  have  much  to  say  to  one  another  !" 

White  and  trembling,  Mavis  rose  up  and  stood  gazing  at 
me  in  fear  and  pity. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  383 

'*  Alone?"  she  faltered.      "  You  are  not  fit  to  be  alone." 

**  No,  I  am  not  fit  to  be,  but  I  must  be,"  I  rejoined 
quickly  and  harshly.  ^'  This  woman  and  I  loved — after  the 
manner  of  brutes,  and  were  wedded  or  rather  mated  in  a 
similar  manner,  though  an  archbishop  blessed  the  pairing 
and  called  upon  Heaven  to  witness  its  sanctity  !  Yet  we 
parted  ill  friends, — and  dead  though  she  is,  I  choose  to  pass 
the  night  with  her, — I  shall  learn  much  knowledge  from  her 
silence.  Tomorrow  the  grave  and  the  servants  of  the  grave 
may  claim  her,  but  to-night  she  is  mine." 

The  girl's  sweet  eyes  brimmed  over  with  tears. 

'*  Oh,  you  are  too  distracted  to  know  what  you  are  saying," 
she  murmured.  ''You  do  not  even  try  to  discover  how  she 
died!" 

"That  is  easy  enough  to  guess,"  I  answered  quickly,  and 
I  took  up  a  small  dark-coloured  bottle  labelled  '  Poison'  that 
I  had  already  perceived  on  the  toilet-table.  *'  This  is  uncorked 
and  empty.  What  it  contained  I  do  not  know, — but  there 
must  be  an  inquest  of  course, — people  must  be  allow^ed  to 
make  money  for  themselves  out  of  her  ladyship's  rash  act.  And 
see  there — "  here  I  pointed  to  some  loose  sheets  of  note-paper 
covered  with  writing,  and  partially  concealed  by  a  filmy  lace 
handkerchief  which  had  evidently  been  hastily  thrown  across 
them,  and  a  pen  and  inkstand  close  by.  "  There  is  some 
admirable  reading  prepared  for  me  doubtless  ! — the  last  mes- 
sage from  the  beloved  dead  is  sacred,  Mavis  Clare  ;  surely  you, 
a  writer  of  tender  romances  can  realize  this  ! — and  realizing 
it,  you  will  do  as  I  ask  you, — leave  me  !" 

She  looked  at  me  in  deep  compassion,  and  slowly  turned 
to  go. 

*'God  help  you!"  she  said  sobbingly.  "God  console 
you  !" 

At  this  some  demon  in  me  broke  loose,  and  springing  to  her 
side  I  caught  her  hands  in  mine. 

"Do  not  dare  to  talk  of  God!"  I  said  in  passionate  ac- 
cents.      "Not  in  this  room, — not   in   that  presence.     Why 


384  THE   SORROWS   OF    SATAN 

should  you  call  curses  down  upon  me  ?  The  help  of  God 
means  punishment,— the  consolations  of  God  are  terrible  ! 
For  strength  must  acknowledge  itself  weak  before  He  will  help 
it, — and  a  heart  must  be  broken  before  He  will  console  it. 
But  what  do  I  say  ! — I  believe  in  jio  God  !  I  believe  in  an 
unknown  Force  that  encomjDasses  me  and  hunts  me  down  to 
the  grave,  but  nothing  more  I  ^7/^  thought  as  I  do, — and  with 
reason, — for  what  has  God  done  for  her?  She  was  made  evil 
from  the  first, — a  born  snare  of  Satan  ..." 

Something  caught  my  breath  here — I  stopped,  unable  to 
utter  another  word.  Mavis  stared  at  me  affrighted,  and  I 
stared  back  again. 

''What  is  it?"  she  whispered  alarmingly.  I  struggled  to 
speak, — finally,  with  difficulty  I  answered  her — 

*'  Nothing  !" 

And  I  motioned  her  away  with  a  gesture  of  entreaty.  The 
expression  of  my  face  must  have  startled  or  intimidated  her  I 
fancy,  for  she  retreated  hastily  and  I  watched  her  disappearing 
as  if  she  were  the  phantom  of  a  dream, — then,  as  she  passed 
out  through  the  boudoir  I  drew  close  the  velvet  portiere  be- 
hind her  and  locked  the  intermediate  door.  This  done  I 
went  slowly  back  to  the  side  of  my  dead  wife. 

'*Now,  Sibyl,"  I  said  aloud,  '' we  are  alone,  you  and  I — 
alone  with  our  own  reflected  images, — you  dead,  and  I  living. 
You  have  no  terrors  for  me  in  your  present  condition, — your 
beauty  has  gone.  Your  smile,  your  eyes,  your  touch  cannot 
stir  me  to  a  throb  of  the  passion  you  craved,  yet  wearied  of. 
What  have  you  to  say  to  me  ? — I  have  heard  that  the  dead 
can  speak  at  times, — and  you  owe  me  reparation, — reparation 
for  the  wrong  you  did  me, — the  lie  on  which  you  based  our 
marriage, — the  guilt  you  cherished  in  your  heart.  Shall  I 
read  your  petition  for  forgiveness  here?" 

And  I  gathered  up  the  written  sheets  of  note-paper  in  one 
hand,  feeling  them  rather  than  seeing  them,  for  my  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  pallid  corpse  in  its  ro  e-silk  '  negligee'  and  jewels, 
that  gazed  at  itself  so  pertinaciously  in  the  shining  mirror.     I 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  385 

drew  a  chair  close  to  it,  and  sat  down,  observing  likewise  the 
reflection  of  my  own  haggard  face  in  the  glass  beside  tliat  of 
the  self-murdered  woman.  Turning  presently,  I  began  to  scru- 
tinize my  immovable  companion  more  closely — and  perceived 
that  she  was  very  lightly  clothed, — under  the  silk  peignoir 
there  was  only  a  flowing  white  garment  of  soft  fine  material 
lavishly  embroidered,  through  which  the  statuesque  contour 
of  her  rigid  limbs  could  be  distinctly  seen.  Stooping,  I  felt 
her  heart, — I  knew  it  was  pulseless  ;  yet  I  half  imagined  I 
should  feel  its  beat.  As  I  withdrew  my  hand,  something 
scaly  and  glistening  caught  my  eye,  and  looking  I  lerceived 
Lucio's  marriage-gift  circling  her  waist, — the  flexible  emerald 
snake  with  its  diamond  crest  and  ruby  eyes.  It  fascinated 
me, — coiled  round  that  dead  body  it  seemed  alive  and  sen- 
tient,— if  it  had  lifted  its  glittering  head  and  hissed  at  me  I 
should  scarcely  have  been  surprised.  I  sat  back  for  a  moment 
in  my  chair,  almost  as  rigid  as  the  corpse  beside  me, — I  stared 
again,  as  ihe  corpse  stared  always,  into  the  mirror  which  pic- 
tured us  both,  we  'twain  in  one,'  as  the  sentimxCntalists  aver 
of  wedded  folk,  though  in  truth  it  often  happens  that  there 
are  no  tw^o  creatures  in  the  world  more  widely  separated  than 
husband  and  wife.  I  heard  stealthy  movements  and  sup- 
pressed whisperings  in  the  passage  outside,  and  guessed  that 
some  of  the  servants  were  there  watching  and  waiting, — but  I 
cared  nothing  for  that.  I  was  absorbed  in  the  ghastly  night 
interview  I  had  planned  for  myself,  and  I  so  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  thing  that  I  turned  on  all  the  electric  lamps  in 
the  room,  besides  lighting  two  tall  clusters  of  shaded  candles 
on  either  side  of  the  toilet-table.  When  all  the  surroundings 
were  thus  rendered  as  brilliant  as  possible,  so  that  the  corpse 
looked  more  livid  and  ghastly  by  comparison,  I  seated  myself 
once  more,  and  prepared  to  read  the  last  message  of  the  dead. 
''Now  Sibyl,"  I  muttered,  leaning  forward  a  little,  and 
noting  with  a  morbid  interest  that  the  jaws  of  the  corpse  had 
relaxed  a  little  within  the  last  few  minutes,  and  that  the  smile 
on  the  face  was  therefore  more  hideous,  "confess  your  sins. 


386  THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

— for  I  am  here  to  listen.     Such  dumb,  impressive  eloquence 
as  yours  deserves  attention  !" 

A  gust  of  wind  fled  round  the  house  with  a  wailing  cry, — 
the  windows  shook,  and  the  candles  flickered.  I  waited  till 
every  sound  had  died  away,  and  then — with  a  glance  at  my 
dead  wife,  under  the  sudden  impression  that  she  had  heard 
what  I  said  and  knew  what  I  was  doing,  I  began  lo  read. 


XXXV 

Thus  ran  the  '  last  document, '  commencing  abruptly  and 
without  prefix : 

''I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  die.  Not  out  of  passion 
or  petulance, — but  from  deliberate  choice,  and,  as  I  think, 
necessity.  My  brain  is  tired  of  problems, — my  body  is  tired 
of  life;  it  is  best  to  make  an  end.  The  idea  of  death, — 
which  means  annihilation, — is  very  sweet  to  me.  I  am  glad 
to  feel  that  by  my  own  will  and  act  I  can  silence  this  uneasy 
throbbing  of  my  heart,  this  turmoil  and  heat  of  my  blood, — 
this  tortured  aching  of  my  nerves.  Young  as  I  am,  I  have 
no  delight  now  in  existence, — I  see  nothing  but  my  love's 
luminous  eyes,  his  god-like  features,  his  enthralling  smile, — 
and  these  are  lost  to  me.  For  a  brief  while  he  has  been  my 
world,  life  and  time, — he  has  gone, — and  without  him  there 
is  no  universe.  How  could  I  endure  the  slow,  wretched, 
passing  of  hours,  days,  weeks,  months  and  years  alone  ? — 
though  it  is  better  to  be  alone  than  in  the  dull  companion- 
ship of  the  self-satisfied,  complacent  and  arrogant  fool  who 
is  my  husband.  He  has  left  me  for  ever,  so  he  says  in  a 
letter  the  maid  brought  to  me  an  hour  ago.  It  is  quite 
what  I  expected  of  him, — what  man  of  his  type  could  find 
jjardon  for  a  blow  to  his  own  ajtiour  propre  I  If  he  had 
studied  my  nature,  entered  into  my  emotions,  or  striven  in  the 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  387 

least  to  guide  and  sustain  me, — if  he  had  shown  me  any  sign 
of  a  great,  true  love  such  as  one  sometimes  dreams  of  and 
seldom  finds, — I  think  I  should  be  sorry  for  him  now, — 1 
should  even  ask  his  forgiveness  for  having  married  him.  But 
he  has  treated  me  precisely  as  he  might  treat  a  paid  mistress, 
— that  is,  he  has  fed  me,  clothed  me,  and  provided  me  with 
money  and  jewels  in  return  for  making  me  the  toy  of  his 
passions, — but  he  has  not  given  me  one  touch  of  sympathy — 
one  proof  of  self-denial  or  humane  forbearance.  Therefore, 
I  owe  him  nothing.  And  now  he,  and  my  love  who  will  not 
be  my  lover,  have  gone  away  together ;  I  am  free  to  do  as  I 
will  with  this  small  pulse  within  me  called  life,  which  is  after 
all,  only  a  thread,  easily  broken.  There  is  no  one  to  say  me 
nay,  or  to  hold  my  hand  back  from  giving  myself  the  final 
quietus.  It  is  well  I  have  no  friends ;  it  is  good  for  me  that  I 
have  probed  the  hypocrisy  and  social  sham  of  the  world,  and 
that  I  have  mastered  the  following  hard  truths  of  life,— that 
there  is  no  love  without  lust, — no  friendship  without  self- 
interest, — no  religion  without  avarice, — and  no  so-called  virtue 
without  its  accompanying  stronger  vice.  Who,  knowing  these 
things,  would  care  to  take  part  in  them  !  On  the  verge  of 
the  grave  I  look  back  along  the  short  vista  of  my  years,  and 
I  see  myself  a  child  in  this  very  place,  this  wooded  Willows- 
mere  ;  I  can  note  how  that  life  began  to  which  I  am  about  to 
put  an  end.  Pampered,  petted  and  spoilt,  told  that  I  must 
'  look  pretty'  and  take  pleasure  in  my  clothes,  I  was  even  at 
the  age  of  ten,  capable  of  a  certain  amount  of  coquetry.  Old 
7'oues,  smelling  of  wine  and  tobacco,  were  eager  to  take  me  on 
their  knees  and  pinch  my  soft  flesh ; — they  would  press  my 
innocent  lips  with  their  withered  ones, — withered  and  con- 
taminated by  the  kisses  of  cocottcs  and  '  soiled  doves'  of  the 
town  ! — I  have  often  wondered  how  it  is  these  men  can  dare 
to  touch  a  young  child's  mouth,  knowing  in  themselves  what 
beasts  they  are!  I  see  my  nurse,— a  trained  liar  and  time- 
server,  giving  herself  more  airs  than  a  queen,  and  forbidding 
me  to  speak  to  this  child  or  that  child,  because  they  were 


388  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

'beneath'  mc  ; — then  came  my  governess,  full  of  a  prurient 
prudery,  as  bad  a  woman  in  morals  as  ever  lived,  yet  '  highly 
recommended'  and  with  excellent  references,  and  wearing  an 
assumption  of  the  strictest  virtue,  like  many  equally  *  loose' 
clergymen's  wives  I  have  known.  I  soon  found  her  out, — for 
even  as  a  child  I  was  painfully  observant, — and  the  stories  she 
and  my  mother's  French  maid  used  to  tell,  in  lowered  voices 
now  and  then  broken  by  coarse  laughter,  were  sufficient  to 
enlighten  me  as  to  her  true  character.  Yet,  beyond  having 
a  supreme  contempt  for  the  woman  who  practised  religious 
austerity  outwardly  and  was  at  heart  a  rake,  I  gave  small  con- 
sideration to  the  difficult  problem  such  a  nature  suggested. 
I  lived, — how  strange  it  seems  that  I  should  be  writing  now 
of  myself,  as  past  and  done  with  ! — yes,  I  lived  in  a  dreamy, 
more  or  less  idyllic  state  of  mind,  thinking  without  being  con- 
scious of  thought,  full  of  fancies  concerning  the  flowers,  trees 
and  birds, — wishing  for  things  of  which  I  knew  nothing, — 
imagining  myself  a  queen  at  times,  and  again,  a  peasant.  I 
was  an  omnivorous  reader, — and  I  was  specially  fond  of  poetry. 
I  used  to  pore  over  the  mystic  verse  of  Shelley,  and  judged 
him  then  as  a  sort  of  demi-god ; — and  never,  even  when  I 
knew  all  about  his  life,  could  I  realize  him  as  a  man  with  a 
thin,  shrieking  falsetto  voice  and  '  loose'  notions  concerning 
women.  But  I  am  quite  sure  it  was  good  for  his  fame  that  he 
was  drowned  in  early  youth  with  so  many  melancholy  and 
dramatic  surroundings, — it  saved  him,  I  consider,  from  a 
possibly  vicious  and  repulsive  old  age.  I  adored  Keats  till  I 
knew  he  had  wasted  his  passion  on  a  Fanny  Brawn, — and  then 
the  glamour  of  him  vanished.  I  can  offer  no  reason  for  this, 
— I  merely  set  down  the  fact.  I  made  a  hero  of  Lord  Byron, 
— in  fact  he  has  always  formed  for  me  the  only  heroical  type 
of  poet.  Strong  in  himself  and  pitiless  in  his  love  for  women, 
he  treated  them  for  the  most  part  as  they  merited,  considering 
the  singular  and  unworthy  specimens  of  the  sex  it  was  his  mis- 
fortune to  encounter.  I  used  to  wonder,  when  reading  these 
men's  amorous  lines,  whether  love  would  ever  come  my  way, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  3S9 

and  what  beatific  state  of  emotion  I  should  then  enjoy.  Then 
came  the  rough  awakening  from  all  my  dreams, — childhood 
melted  into  womanhood, — and  at  sixteen  1  was  taken  up  to 
town  with  my  parents  to  '  know  something  of  the  ways  and 
manners  of  society'  before  finally  'coming  out.'  Oh,  those 
ways  and  manners  !  I  learnt  them  to  perfection  !  Astonished 
at  first,  then  bewildered,  and  allowed  no  time  to  form  any  judg- 
ment on  what  I  saw,  I  w^as  hurried  through  a  general  vague 
*  impression'  of  things  such  as  I  had  never  imagined  or  dreamed 
of.  While  I  was  yet  lost  in  wonderment,  and  kept  constantly 
in  companionship  with  young  girls  of  my  own  rank  and  age, 
who  nevertheless  seemed  much  more  advanced  in  knowledge 
of  the  world  than  I,  my  father  suddenly  informed  me  that 
Willowsmere  was  lost  to  us, — that  he  could  not  afford  to  keep 
it  up, — and  that  we  should  return  there  no  more  Ah,  what 
tears  I  shed  ! — what  a  fury  of  grief  consumed  me  ! — I  did  not 
then  comprehend  the  difficult  entanglements  of  either  wealth 
or  poverty  ; — all  I  could  realize  was  that  the  doors  of  my  dear 
old  home  were  closed  upon  me  for  ever.  After  that,  I  think 
I  grew  cold  and  hard  in  disposition ;  I  had  never  loved  my 
mother  very  dearly, — in  fact  I  had  seen  very  little  of  her,  as 
she  was  always  aw^ay  visiting,  if  not  entertaining  visitors,  and 
she  seldom  had  me  with  her, — so  that  when  she  was  suddenly 
struck  down  by  a  first  shock  of  paralysis,  it  affected  me  but 
little.  She  had  her  doctors  and  nurses, — I  had  my  governess 
still  with  me,  and  my  mother's  sister.  Aunt  Charlotte,  came  to 
keep  house  for  us, — so  I  began  to  analyze  society  for  myself, 
without  giving  any  expression  oi  my  opinions  on  what  I  ob- 
served. I  was  not  yet  '  out,'  but  I  went  everywhere  where 
girls  of  my  age  were  invited,  and  perceived  things  without 
showing  that  I  had  any  faculty  of  perception.  I  cultivated  a 
passionless  and  cold  exterior, — a  listle.^s,  uninterested  and 
frigid  demeanour, — for  I  discovered  that  this  was  accepted  by 
many  people  as  dullness  or  stupidity,  and  that  by  assuming 
such  a  character,  certain  otherwise  crafty  persons  would  talk 
more  readily  before  me,  and  betray  themselves  and  their  vices 

3r 


390 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


unawares.  Thus  my  '  social  education'  began  in  grim  earnest ; 
— women  of  title  and  renown  would  ask  me  to  their  *  quiet 
teas,'  because  I  was  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  a  *  harm- 
less girl,' — *  rather  pretty,  but  dull,' — and  allow  me  to  assist 
them  in  entertaining  the  lovers  who  called  upon  them  while 
their  husbands  were  out.  I  remember  on  one  occasion,  a 
great  lady  famous  for  two  things,  her  diamonds  ai)d  her  in- 
timacy with  the  Queen,  kissed  her  '  cavaliere  servente,'  a 
noted  sporting  earl,  with  considerable  abandon  in  my  presence. 
He  muttered  something  about  me, — I  heard  it ; — but  his 
amorous  mistress  merely  answered  in  a  whisper — *  Oh,  it's 
only  Sibyl  Elton,, — she  understands  nothing.'  Afterwards 
hosvever,  when  he  had  gone,  she  turned  to  me  with  a  grin 
and  remarked — *  You  saw  me  kiss  Bertie,  didn't  you?  I 
often  do ;  he's  quite  like  my  brother!'  I  made  no  reply — I 
only  smiled  vaguely ;  and  the  next  day  she  sent  me  a  valuable 
diamond  ring,  which  I  at  once  returned  to  her  with  a  prim 
little  note,  stating  that  I  was  much  obliged,  but  that  my 
father  considered  me  too  young  as  yet  to  wear  diamonds. 
Why  do  I  think  of  these  trifles  now  I  wonder  ! — now  when  I 
am  about  to  take  my  leave  of  life  and  all  its  lies  !  .  .  .  There 
is  a  little  bird  singing  outside  my  bedroom  window, — such  a 
pretty  creature.  I  suppose  it  is  happy  ? — it  should  be,  as  it  is 
not  human.  .  .  .  The  tears  are  in  my  eyes  as  I  listen  to  its 
.sweet  warbling,  and  think  that  it  will  be  living  and  singing 
still  to-day  at  sunset  when  I  am  dead  ! 

That  last  sentence  was  mere  sentiment,  for  I  am  not  sorry 
to  die.  If  I  felt  the  least  regret  about  it  I  should  not  carry 
out  my  intention.  I  must  resume  my  narrative, — for  it  is  an 
analysis  I  am  trying  to  make  of  myself,  to  find  out  if  I  can 
whether  there  are  no  excuses  to  be  found  for  my  particular 
disposition, — whether  it  is  not  after  all  the  education  and 
training  I  have  had  that  have  made  me  what  I  am,  or  whether 
indeed  I  was  born  evil  from  the  first.  The  circumstances 
that  surrounded  me  did  not,  at  any  rate,  tend  to  soften  or 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  391 

improve  my  character.  I  had  just  passed  my  seventeenth 
birthday,  when  one  morning  my  father  called  me  into  his 
library  and  told  me  the  true  position  of  his  affairs.  I  learned 
that  he  was  crippled  on  all  sides  with  debt, — that  he  lived  on 
advances  made  to  him  by  Jew  usurers, — and  that  these  ad- 
vances were  trusted  to  him  solely  on  the  speculation  that  I, 
his  only  daughter,  would  make  a  sufficiently  rich  marriage  to 
enable  him  to  repay  all  loans  with  heavy  interest.  He  went  on 
to  say  that  he  hoped  I  would  act  sensibly, — and  that  when 
any  men  showed  indications  of  becoming  suitors  for  my  hand, 
I  would,  before  encouraging  them,  inform  him,  in  order  that 
he  might  make  sirict  enquiries  as  to  their  actual  extent  of  for- 
time.  I  then  understood,  for  the  first  time,  that  I  was  for 
sale.  I  listened  in  silence  till  he  had  finished, — then  I  asked 
him — '  Love,  I  suppose,  is  not  to  be  considered  in  the  matter?' 
He  laughed,  and  assured  me  it  was  much  easier  to  love  a  rich 
man  than  a  poor  one,  as  I  would  find  out  after  a  little  ex- 
1-erience.  He  added,  with  some  hesitation,  that  to  help  make 
both  ends  meet,  as  the  expenses  of  town  life  were  consider- 
able, he  had  arranged  to  take  a  young  American  lady  under 
his  charge,  a  Miss  Diana  Chesney,  who  wished  to  be  intro- 
duced into  English  society,  and  who  would  pay  two  thousand 
guineas  a  year  to  him  for  that  privilege,  and  for  Aunt  Char- 
lotte's services  as  chaperon.  I  do  not  remember  now  what 
I  said  to  him  when  I  heard  this, — [  knoN\  that  my  long 
suppressed  feelings  broke  out  in  a  storm  of  fury,  and  that  for 
the  moment  he  was  completely  taken  aback  by  the  force  of  my 
indignation.  An  American  boarder  in  our  house  ! — it  seemed 
to  me  as  outrageous  and  undignified  as  the  conduct  of  a 
woman  I  once  knew,  who,  favoured  by  the  Queen's  patronage 
with  '  free'  apartments  in  Kensington  Palace,  took  from  time 
to  time  on  the  sly,  an  American  or  Colonial  '  paying-guest,' 
who  adopted  forthwith  the  address  of  Her  Majesty's  birthplace 
as  her  own,  thus  lowering  the  whole  prestige  of  that  historic 
habitation.  My  wrath  however  was  useless  ; — the  bargain 
was  arranged, — my  father,  regardless  of  his  proud  lineage  and 


392  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

the  social  dignity  of  his  position,  had  degraded  himself,  in 
my  opinion,  to  the  level  of  a  sort  of  superior  lodging-house 
keeper, — and  from  that  time  I  lost  all  my  former  respect  for 
him.  Of  course  it  can  be  argued  that  I  was  wrong, — that  I 
ought  to  have  honoured  him  for  turning  his  name  to  monetary 
account  by  loaning  it  out  as  a  protective  shield  and  panoply 
for  an  American  woman  without  anything  but  the  dollars  of  a 
vulgar  *  railway-king'  to  back  her  up  in  society, — but  I  could 
not  see  it  in  that  light.  I  retreated  into  myself  more  than 
ever, — and  became  more  than  pleasantly  known  for  my  cold- 
ness, reserve  and  hauteur.  Miss  Chesney  came,  and  strove 
hard  to  be  my  friend, — but  she  soon  found  that  impossible. 
She  is  a  good-hearted  creature  I  believe, — but  she  is  badly 
bred  and  badly  trained,  as  all  her  compatriots  are,  more  or  less, 
despite  their  smattering  of  an  European  education.  I  disliked 
her  from  the  first,  and  have  spared  no  pains  to  show  it.  Yet  I 
know  she  will  be  Countess  of  Elton  as  soon  as  it  is  decently 
possible, — say,  after  the  year's  ceremonious  mourning  for  my 
mother  has  expired,  and  perhaps  three  months'  hypocritical 
wearing  of  black  for  me, — my  father  believes  himself  to  be 
still  young  and  passably  good-looking,  and  he  is  quite  inca- 
pable of  resisting  the  fortune  she  will  bring  him.  When  she 
took  up  her  fixed  abode  in  our  house,  and  Aunt  Charlotte 
became  her  paid  chaperon,  I  seldom  went  out  to  any  social 
gatherings,  for  I  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  being  seen  in 
her  companionship.  I  kept  to  my  own  room  a  great  deal,  and 
thus  secluded,  read  many  books.  All  the  fashionable  fiction 
of  the  day  passed  through  my  hands,  much  to  my  gradual 
enlightenment,  if  not  to  my  edification.  One  day, — a  day 
that  is  stamped  on  my  memory  as  a  kind  of  turning-point  in 
my  life, — I  read  a  novel  by  a  woman  which  I  did  not  at  first 
entirely  understand, — but  on  going  over  some  of  its  passages  a 
second  time,  all  at  once  its  horrible  lasciviousness  flashed  upon 
me  and  filled  me  with  such  a  genuine  disgust  that  I  flung  it  on 
the  ground  in  a  fit  of  loathing  and  contempt.  Yet  I  had  seen 
it  praised  in  all  the  leading  journals  of  the  day ;  its  obscenities 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  393 

were  hinted  as  'daring,' — its  vulgarities  were  quoted  as  'bril- 
liant wit,' — in  fact  so  many  laudatory  columns  were  written 
about  it  in  the  press  that  I  resolved  to  read  it  again.  Encour- 
aged by  the  '  literary  censors'  of  the  time,  1  did  so,  and  little  by 
little  the  insidious  abomination  of  it  filtered  into  my  mind  and 
sfave(^  thej-e.  I  began  to  think  about  it,— and  by  and-by 
found  pleasure  in  thinking  about  it.  I  sent  for  other  books  by 
the  same  tainted  hand,  and  my  appetite  for  that  kind  of  pru- 
rient romance  grew  keener.  At  this  particular  juncture,  as 
chance  or  fate  would  have  it,  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  the 
daughter  of  a  Marchioness,  a  girl  with  large  black  eyes  and 
those  full  protruding  lips  which  remind  one  unconsciously  of 
a  swine's  snout,  brought  me  two  or  three  odd  volumes  of  the 
poems  of  Swinburne.  Always  devoted  to  poetry,  and  consid- 
ering it  to  be  the  higliest  of  the  arts,  and  up  to  that  period 
having  been  ignorant  of  this  writer's  work,  I  turned  over  the 
books  with  eagerness,  expecting  to  enjoy  the  usual  sublime 
emotions  which  it  is  the  privilege  and  glory  of  the  poet  to 
inspire  in  mortals  less  d.vinely  endowed  than  himself,  and 
who  turn  to  him 

"  for  help  to  climb 
Beyond  the  highest  peaks  of  time." 

Now  I  should  like,  if  I  could  do  so,  to  explain  clearly  the 
effect  of  this  satyr-songster  upon  my  mind, — for  I  believe 
there  are  many  women  to  whom  his  works  have  been  deadlier 
than  the  deadliest  p  )ison,  and  far  more  soul-corrupting  than 
any  book  of  Zola's  or  the  most  pernicious  of  modern  French 
writers.  At  first  I  read  the  poems  quickly,  with  a  certain 
pleasure  in  the  mere  swing  and  jangle  of  rhythm,  and  without 
paying  much  attention  to  the  subject-matter  of  the  verse, — 
but  presently,  as  though  a  lurid  blaze  of  lightning  had  stripped 
a  fair  tree  of  its  adorning  leaves,  my  senses  suddenly  perceived 
the  cruelty  and  fiendish  sensuality  concealed  under  the  or- 
nate language  and  persuasive  rhymes, — and  for  a  moment  I 
paused  in  my  reading,  and  closed  my  eyes,  shuddering  and 
sick  at  heart.      Was  human  nature    as  base  and  abandoned 


394  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

as  this  man  declared  it  to  be?  Was  there  no  God  but 
Lust?  Were  men  and  women  lower  and  more  depraved  in 
their  passions  and  appetites  than  the  very  beasts?  I  mused 
and  dreamed, — I  pored  over  the  '  l.aus  A'eneris' — '  Faus- 
tine'  and  'Anactoria,'  till  1  felt  myself  being  dragged  down 
to  the  brute  level  of  the  mind  that  conceived  such  out- 
rages to  decency.  I  drank  in  Swinburne's  own  fiendish  con- 
tempt of  God,  and  1  read  over  and  over  again  his  verses 
'  Before  a  Crucifix'  till  I  knew  them  by  heart ; — till  they  rang 
in  my  brain  as  persistently  as  any  nursery  jingle,  and  drove 
my  thoughts  into  as  haughty  a  scorn  of  Christ  and  His  teach- 
ings as  any  unbelieving  Jew.  It  is  nothing  to  me  now, — 
now,  when  without  hope  or  faith  or  love,  I  am  about  to  take 
the  final  plunge  into  eternal  darkness  and  silence, — but  for 
the  sake  of  those  who  have  the  comfort  of  a  religion,  I  ask, 
why,  in  a  so-called  Christian  country,  is  such  a  hideous  blas- 
phemy as  '  Before  a  Crucifix'  allowed  to  circulate  among  the 
people  without  so  much  as  one  reproof  from  those  who  elect 
themselves  judges  of  literature  ?  I  have  seen  many  noble 
writers  condemned  unheard, — many  have  been  accused  of 
blasphemy,  whose  works  tend  quite  the  other  way, — but  these 
lines  are  permitted  to  work  their  cruel  mischief  unchecked,  and 
the  writer  of  them  is  glorified  as  though  he  were  a  benefactor 
to  mankind  instead  of  a  corrupter.  I  quote  them  here,  from 
bitter  memory,  that  I  may  not  be  deemed  as  exaggerating  their 
nature  — 

"  So  when  our  souls  look  back  to  thee, 
They  sicken,  seeing  against  thy  side. 

Too  foul  to  speak  of  or  to  see. 
The  leprous  likeness  of  a  bride, 

Whose  kissing  lips  through  his  lips  grown 

Leave  their  God  rotten,  to  the  bouc. 

When  we  would  sec  thee  man,  and  know 
What  heart  thou  had'st  towards  man  indeed, 

Lo,  thy  blood-blackened  altars  ;  lo, 
The  lips  of  priests  that  pray  and  feed. 

While  their  own  hell' s  worm  curls  and  licks 

The  poison  of  the  crucifix. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  395 

Thou  bad'st  the  children  come  to  thee, — 

IV/ujf  children  now  but  curses  come. 
What  manhood  in  that  God  can  be 

Who  sees  their  worship  and  is  dumb?  — 
No  soul  that  lived,  loved,  wrought,  and  died 
Is  this,  their  Carrion  Crucified  / 

Nay,  if  their  God  and  thou  be  one, 

If  thou  and  this  thing  be  the  same, 
Thou  should'st  not  look  upon  the  sun, 

The  sun  grows  haggard  at  thy  name  ; 
Come  down,  be  done  with,  cease,  give  o'er, 
Hide  thyself,  strive  not,  be  no  more." 

From  the  time  of  reading  this,  I  used  to  think  of  Christ  as 
*  carrion  crucified'  ; — if  I  ever  thought  at  all.  I  found  out 
that  no  one  had  ever  reproached  Mr  Swinburne  for  this  term, 
— that  it  did  not  interfere  with  his  chances  for  the  Laureate- 
ship, — and  that  not  even  a  priest  of  the  church  had  been  bold- 
spoken  or  zealous  enough  in  his  Master's  cause  to  publicly 
resent  the  shameless  outrage.  So  I  concluded  that  Swinburne 
must  be  right  in  his  opinions,  and  I  followed  tlie  lazy  and 
unthinking  course  of  social  movement,  spending  my  days 
with  such  literature  as  stored  my  brain  with  a  complete  knowl- 
edge of  things  evil  and  pernicious.  Whatever  soul  I  had  in 
me  was  killed ;  the  freshness  of  my  mind  was  gone, — Swin- 
burne, among  others,  had  helped  me  to  live  mentally,  if  not 
physically,  through  such  a  phase  of  vice  as  had  poisoned  my 
thoughts  for  ever.  I  understand  there  is  some  vague  law  in 
existence  about  placing  an  interdiction  on  certain  books  con- 
sidered injurious  to  public  morals, — if  there  is  such  a  rule,  it 
has  been  curiously  lax  concerning  the  author  of  '  Anactoria' — 
who,  by  virtue  of  being  a  poet,  passes  unquestioned  into  many 
a  home,  carrying  pollution  into  minds  that  were  once  cleanly 
and  simple.  As  for  me,  after  I  had  studied  his  verse  to  my 
heart's  content,  nothing  remained  sacred. — I  judged  men  as 
beasts  and  women  as  little  better, — I  had  no  belief  in  honour, 
virtue  or  truth, — and  I  was  absolutely  indifferent  to  all  things 
save  one,  and  that  was  my  resolve  to  have  my  own  wa}'  as  far 


396  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

as  love  was  concerned.  I  might  be  forced  to  marry  without 
love  for  purely  money-considerations, — but  all  the  same,  love 
I  would  have,  or  what  I  called  love; — not  an  '  ideal'  passion  by 
any  means,  but  precisely  what  Mr  Swinburne  and  a  few  of  the 
most-praised  novelists  of  the  day  had  taught  me  to  consider 
as  love.  I  began  to  wonder  when  and  how  I  should  meet  my 
lover, — such  thoughts  as  I  had  at  this  time  indeed  would  have 
made  moralists  stare  and  uplift  their  hands  in  horror, — but  to 
the  exterior  world  I  was  the  very  pink  and  pattern  of  maidenly 
decorum,  reserve  and  pride.  Men  desired,  but  feared  me  ; 
for  I  never  gave  them  any  encouragement,  seeing  as  yet  none 
among  them  whom  I  deemed  worthy  of  such  love  as  I  could 
give.  The  majority  resembled  carefully  trained  baboons, — 
respectably  clothed  and  artistically  shaven, — but  nevertheless 
all  with  the  spasmodic  grin,  the  leering  eye  and  the  uncouth 
gestures  of  the  hairy  woodland  monster.  When  I  was  just 
eighteen  I  '  came  out'  in  earnest, — that  is,  I  was  presented  at 
Court  with  all  the  foolish  and  farcical  pomp  practised  on  such 
occasions.  I  was  told  before  going  that  it  was  a  great  and 
necessary  thing  to  be  '  presented,' — that  it  was  a  guarantee  of 
position  and  above  all  of  reputation, — the  Queen  received  none 
whose  conduct  was  not  rigidly  correct  and  virtuous.  What 
humbug  it  all  was  ! — I  laughed  then,  and  I  can  smile  now  to 
think  of  it, — why,  the  very  woman  who  presented  me  had  two 
illegitimate  sons,  unknown  to  her  lawful  husband,  and  she 
was  not  the  only  playful  sinner  in  the  Court  comedy  !  Some 
women  were  there  that  day  whom  since  even  /  would  not 
receive — so  openly  infamous  are  their  lives  and  characters, 
yet  they  make  their  demure  curtseys  before  the  Throne  at 
stated  times  and  assume  to  be  the  very  patterns  of  virtue  and 
austerity.  Now  and  then,  it  chances  in  the  case  of  an  exceed- 
ingly beautiful  woman  of  whom  all  the  others  are  jealous,  that 
for  her  little  slips  she  is  selected  as  an  '  example'  and  excluded 
from  Court,  while  her  plainer  sisters,  though  sinning  seventy 
times  seven  against  all  the  laws  of  decency  and  morality,  are 
still   received, — but   otherwise,   there   is  very  little  real   care 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  397 

exercised  as  to  the  character  and  prestige  of  the  women  whom 
the  Queen  receives.  If  any  one  of  them  is  refused,  it  is 
certain  she  adds  to  her  social  enormities  the  greater  crime  of 
being  beautiful,  otherwise  there  would  be  no  one  to  whisper 
away  her  reputation.  I  was  what  is  ( ailed  a  '  success'  on 
my  presentation  day.  That  is,  I  was  stared  at,  and  openly 
flattered  by  certain  members  of  my  sex  who  were  too  old  and 
ugly  to  be  jealous,  and  treated  with  insolent  contempt  by 
those  who  were  young  enough  to  be  my  rivals.  There  was 
a  great  crush  to  get  into  the  Throne  Room  ;  and  some  of 
the  ladies  used  rather  strong  language.  One  duchess,  just  in 
front  of  me,  said  to  her  companion — '  Do  as  I  do, — kick 
out !  Bruise  their  shins  for  them — as  hard  as  you  can, — we 
shall  get  on  faster  then  ! '  This  choice  remark  was  accom- 
panied by  the  grin  of  a  fishwife  and  the  stare  of  a  drab. 
Yet  it  was  a  '  great'  lady  who  spoke, — not  a  Transatlantic 
importation,  but  a  woman  of  distinguished  lineage  and  con- 
nection. Her  observation,  however,  was  only  one  out  of 
many  similar  speeches  which  I  heard  on  all  sides  of  me  during 
the  'distinguished'  melee, — a  thoroughly  ill-mannered  'crush,' 
which  struck  me  as  supremely  vulgar  and  totally  unfitting 
the  dignity  of  our  Sovereign's  court.  When  I  curtsied  before 
the  Throne  at  last,  and  saw  the  majesty  of  the  Empire  repre- 
sented by  a  kindly  faced  old  lady,  looking  very  tired  and 
bored,  whose  hand  was  as  cold  as  ice  when  I  kissed  it,  I  was 
conscious  of  an  intense  feeling  of  pity  for  her  in  her  high 
estate.  Who  would  be  a  Monarch  to  be  doomed  to  the  per- 
petual receiving  of  a  company  of  fools  !  I  got  through  my 
duties  quickly,  and  returned  home  more  or  less  wearied  out 
and  disgusted  with  the  whole  ceremony, — and  next  day  I 
found  that  my  '  debut'  had  given  me  the  position  of  a  '  leading 
beauty'  ;  or  in  other  words  that  I  was  now  formally  put  up 
for  sale.  That  is  really  what  is  meant  by  being  *  presented' 
and  '  coming  out,' — these  are  the  fancy  terms  of  one's  parental 
auctioneer.  My  life  was  now  passed  in  dressing,  having  my 
photograph    taken,   giving  '  sittings'  to   aspiring   fashionable 

34 


398  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

painters,  and  being  *  inspected'  by  men  with  a  view  to  matri- 
mony. It  was  distinctly  understood  in  society  that  I  was  not 
to  be  sold  under  a  certain  figure  per  annum, — and  the  price 
was  too  high  for  most  would-be  purchasers.  How  sick  I  grew 
of  my  constant  exhibition  in  the  marriage-market  !  What  con- 
tempt and  hatred  was  fostered  in  me  for  the  mean  and  pitiable 
hypocrisies  of  my  set  !  I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that 
money  was  the  chief  motive  power  of  all  social  success, — that 
the  proudest  and  highest  personages  in  the  world  could  be 
easily  gathered  together  under  the  roof  of  any  vulgar  plebeian 
who  happened  to  have  enough  cash  to  feed  and  entertain 
them.  As  an  example  of  this,  I  remember  a  woman,  ugly, 
passee  and  squint-eyed,  who  during  her  father's  life  was  only 
allowed  about  half-a-crown  a  week  as  pocket-money  up  to  her 
fortieth  year, — and  who,  when  that  father  died,  leaving  her  in 
possession  of  half  his  fortune  (the  other  half  going  to  illegiti- 
mate children  of  whom  she  had  never  heard,  he  having  always 
posed  as  a  pattern  of  immaculate  virtue),  suddenly  blossomed 
out  as  a  '  leader'  of  fashion,  and  succeeded,  through  cautious 
scheming  and  ungrudging  toadyism,  in  assembling  some  of 
the  highest  people  in  the  land  under  her  roof.  Ugly  and 
passee  though  she  was,  and  verging  towards  fifty,  with  neither 
grace,  wit,  nor  intelligence,  through  the  power  of  her  cash 
alone  she  invited  Royal  dukes  and  '  titles'  generally  to  her 
dinners  and  dances, — and  it  is  to  their  shame  that  they 
actually  accepted  her  invitations.  Such  voluntary  degrada- 
tions on  the  part  of  really  well-connected  people  I  have  never 
been  able  to  understand, — it  is  not  as  if  they  were  actually  in 
want  of  food  or  amusement,  for  they  have  a  surfeit  of  both 
every  season, — and  it  seems  to  me  that  they  ought  to  show  a 
better  example  than  to  flock  in  crowds  to  the  entertainments 
of  a  mere  uninteresting  and  ugly  nobody  just  because  she 
happens  to  have  money.  I  never  entered  her  house  myself, 
though  she  had  the  audacity  to  invite  me, — I  learned,  more- 
over, that  she  had  promised  a  friend  of  mine  a  hundred 
guineas  if  she  could  persuade  me  to  make  one  appearance 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 


;99 


in  her  rooms.  For  my  renown  as  a  'beauty,'  combined  with 
my  pride  and  exclusiveness,  would  have  given  her  parties  a 
prestige  greater  than  even  Royalty  could  bestow,  — she  knew 
that  and /knew  that;  and  knowing  it,  never  condescended 
to  so  much  as  notice  her  by  a  bow.  But  though  I  took  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  thus  revenging  myself  on  the  atrocious 
vulgarity  oi  parvenus  zxi^  social  interlopers,  I  grew  intensely 
weary  of  the  monotony  and  emptiness  of  what  fashionable 
folks  call  'amusement,'  and  presently  falling  ill  of  a  nervous 
fever,  I  was  sent  down  to  the  seaside  for  a  few  weeks'  change 
of  air  with  a  young  cousin  of  mine,  a  girl  I  rather  liked 
because  she  was  so  different  to  myself.  Her  name  was  Eva 
Maitland — she  was  but  sixteen  and  extremely  delicate — poor 
little  soul !  she  died  two  months  before  my  marriage.  She 
and  I,  and  a  maid  to  attend  us,  went  down  to  Cromer, — 
and  one  day,  sitting  on  the  cliffs  together,  she  asked  me 
timidly  if  I  knew  an  author  named  Mavis  Clare  ?  I  told  her 
no, — whereupon  she  handed  me  a  book  called  '  The  Wings  of 
Psyche.' 

"  Do  read  it !"  she  said  earnestly.  ''  It  will  make  you  feel 
so  happy  ! ' ' 

I  laughed.  The  idea  of  a  modern  author  writing  anything 
to  make  one  feel  happy,  seemed  to  me  quite  ludicrous,  the 
aim  of  most  of  them  being  to  awaken  a  disgust  of  life,  and  a 
hatred  of  one's  fellow-creatures.  However,  to  please  Eva,  I 
read  '  The  Wings  of  Psyche,' — and  if  it  did  not  make  me  actu- 
ally happy,  it  moved  me  to  a  great  wonder  and  deep  reverence 
for  the  woman-writer  of  such  a  book.  I  found  out  all  about 
her, — that  she  was  young,  pretty,  of  a  noble  character  and  un- 
blemished reputation,  and  that  her  only  enemies  were  the 
press-critics.  This  last  point  was  so  much  in  her  favour  with 
me  that  I  at  once  bought  everything  she  had  ever  written,  and 
her  works  became,  as  it  were,  my  haven  of  rest.  Her  theories 
of  life  are  strange,  poetic,  ideal  and  beautiful, — though  I  have 
not  been  able  to  accept  them  or  work  them  out  in  my  own 
case.  I  have  alwavs  felt  soothed  and  comforted  for  a  while  in 


400  THE    SORROWS   OF    SA'IWN 

the  very  act  of  wishing  they  were  true.  And  the  woman  is 
like  her  books, — strange,  poetic,  ideal  and  beautiful, — how 
odd  it  is  to  think  that  she  is  within  ten  minutes'  walk  of  me 
now  ! — I  could  send  for  her  if  I  liked,  and  tell  her  all,— but 
she  would  prevent  me  carrying  out  my  resolve.  She  would 
cling  to  me  woman-like  and  kiss  me,  and  hold  my  hands  and 
say,  *  No,  Sibyl,  no  !  You  are  not  yourself, — you  must  come 
to  me  and  rest!'  An  odd  fancy  has  seized  me,  ...  I  will 
open  my  window  and  call  her  very  gently, — she  might  be  in 
the  garden  coming  here  to  see  me, — and  if  she  hears  and 
answers,  who  knows  ! — why,  perhaps  my  ideas  may  change, 
and  fate  itself  may  take  a  different  course  ! 

Well,  I  have  called  her.  I  have  sent  her  name  '  Mavis  !'  softly 
out  on  the  sunshine  and  still  air  three  times,  and  only  a  little 
brown  namesake  of  hers,  a  thrush,  swinging  on  a  branch  of  fir, 
answered  me  with  his  low  autumnal  piping.  Mavis  !  She  will 
not  come, — to-day  God  will  not  make  her  His  me.-senger.  She 
cannot  guess — she  does  not  know  this  tragedy  of  my  heart, 
greater  and  more  poignant  than  all  the  tragedies  of  fiction. 
If  she  did  know  me  as  I  am,  I  wonder  what  she  Avould  think 
of  me  ! 

Let  me  go  back  to  the  time  when  love  came  to  me, — love, 
ardent,  passionate,  and  eternal !  Ah,  what  wild  joy  thrilled 
through  me  !  what  mad  ecstasy  fired  my  blood  !— what  delir- 
ious dreams  possessed  my  brain  !  I  saw  Lucio, — and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  splendid  eyes  of  some  great  angel  had  fla-hed  a  glory 
in  my  soul !  With  him  came  his  friend,  the  foil  to  his  beauty, 
— the  arrogant,  self-satisfied  fool  of  a  millionaire,  Geoffrey 
Tempest, — he  who  bought  me,  and  who  by  virtue  of  his  pur- 
chase, is  entitled  by  law  to  call  himself  my  husband  ..." 

Here  I  paused  in  my  reading  and  looked  up.  The  dead 
woman's  e}  es  aj^peared  now  to  regard  me  as  steadily  as  herself 
in  the  opposite  mirror, — the  head   was  a  little  more  dropped 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  401 

forward  on  the  breast,  and  the  whole  face  very  nearly  re- 
sembled that  of  the  late  Countess  of  Elton  when  the  last 
shock  of  paralysis  had  rendered  her  hideous  disfigurement 
complete. 

**  To  think  that  I  loved  that  T'  I  said  aloud,  pointing  at  the 
corpse's  ghastly  reflection.  "  Fool  that  I  was  indeed  ! — as 
great  a  fool  as  all  men  are  who  barter  their  lives  for  the  pos- 
session of  a  woman's  mere  body  !  Why,  if  there  were  any  life 
after  death — if  such  a  creature  had  a  soul  that  at  all  resembled 
this  poisoned  clay,  the  very  devils  might  turn  away  aghast 
from  such  a  loathly  comrade  !" 

The  candles  flickered,  and  the  dead  face  seemed  to  smile, — 
a  clock  chimed  in  the  adjoining  room,  but  I  did  not  count  the 
hour, — I  merely  arranged  the  manuscript  pages  I  held  more 
methodically,  and  read  on  with  renewed  attention. 


XXXVI 


*'  From  the  moment  I  saw  Lucio  Rimanez,"  went  on  Sibyl's 
'dying  speech,'  "  I  abandoned  myself  to  love  and  the  desire 
of  love.  I  had  heard  of  him  before  from  my  father,  who  had 
(as  I  learned  to  my  shame)  been  indebted  to  him  for  monetary 
assistance.  On  the  very  night  we  met,  my  father  told  me 
quite  plainly  that  now  was  my  chance  to  get  'settled'  in  life. 
*  Marry  Rimanez  or  Tempest,  whichever  you  can  most  easily 
catch,'  he  said.  'The  prince  is  fabulously  wealthy — but  he 
keeps  up  a  mystery  about  himself  and  no  one  knows  where  he 
actually  comes  from, — besides  which,  he  dislikes  women;  — 
now  Tempest  has  five  millions  and  seems  an  easy-going  fool, 
— I  should  say  you  had  better  go  for  Tempest.'  I  made  no 
answer  and  gave  no  promise  either  way.  I  soon  found  out, 
however,  that  Lucio  did  not  intend  to  marry, — and  I  con- 
cluded that  he  preferred  to  be  the  lover  of  many  women,  in- 
stead of  the  husband  of  one.  I  did  not  love  him  any  the 
aa  .  34* 


402  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

less  for  this, — I  only  resolved  that  I  would  at  least  be  one  of 
those  who  were  happy  enough  to  share  his  passion.  I  married 
the  man  Tempest,  feeling  that,  like  many  women  I  knew,  I 
should,  when  safely  wedded,  have  greater  liberty  of  action, — I 
was  aware  that  most  modern  men  prefer  an  amour  with  a 
married  woman  to  any  other  kind  of  liaison, — and  I  thought 
Lucio  would  have  readily  yielded  to  the  plan  I  had  pre-con- 
ceived.  But  I  was  mistaken, — and  out  of  this  mistake  comes 
all  my  perplexity,  pain  and  bewilderment.  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  my  love, — beloved  beyond  all  word  and  thought, — 
should  scorn  me  and  repulse  me  with  such  bitter  loathing  ! 
It  is  such  a  common  thing  now-a-days  for  a  married  woman 
to  have  her  own  lover  apart  from  her  husband  de  convenance  ! 
The  writers  of  books  advise  it, — I  have  seen  the  custom  not 
only  excused  but  advocated,  over  and  over  again,  in  long  and 
scientific  articles  that  are  openly  published  in  leading  maga- 
zines. Why  then  should  I  be  blamed  or  my  desires  considered 
criminal  ?  As  long  as  no  public  scandal  is  made,  what  harm 
is  done  ?  I  cannot  see  it, — it  is  not  as  if  there  were  a  God  to 
care,— the  scientists  say  there  is  no  God. 

I  was  very  startled  just  now.  I  thought  I  heard  Lucie's 
voice  calling  me.  I  have  walked  through  the  rooms  looking 
everywhere,  and  I  opened  my  door  to  listen,  but  there  is  no 
one.  I  am  alone.  I  have  told  the  servant  not  to  disturb  me 
till  I  ring ;  .  .  .  I  shall  never  ring  !  Now  I  come  to  think 
of  it,  it  is  singular  that  I  have  never  known  who  Lucio  really 
is.  A  prince,  he  says — and  that  I  can  well  believe, — though 
truly  princes  now-a-d  lys  are  so  plebeian  and  common  in  looks 
and  bearing  that  he  seems  too  great  to  belong  to  so  shabby  a 
fraternity.  From  what  kingdom  does  he  come? — to  what 
nation  does  he  belong?  These  are  questions  which  he  never 
answers  save  equivocally. 

I  pau.se  here,  and  look  at  myself  in  the  mirror.  How 
beautiful  I  am  !     I  note  with  admiration  the  deep  and  dewy 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  403 

lustre  of  my  eyes,  and  their  dark  silky  fringes, — I  see  the 
delicate  colouring  of  my  cheeks  and  lips, — the  dear  rounded 
chin,  with  its  pretty  dimple, — the  pure  lines  of  my  slim  throat 
and  snowy  neck, — the  glistening  wealth  of  my  long  hair.  All 
this  was  given  to  me  for  the  attraction  and  luring  of  men,  but 
my  love,  whom  I  love  with  all  this  living,  breathing,  exquisite 
being  of  mine,  can  see  no  beauty  in  me,  and  rejects  me  with 
such  scorn  as  pierces  my  very  soul.  I  have  knelt  to  him, — I 
have  prayed  to  him, — I  have  worshipped  him, — in  vain  ! 
Hence  it  comes  that  I  must  die.  Only  one  thing  he  said  that 
had  the  sound  of  hope,  though  the  utterance  was  fierce,  and 
his  looks  were  cruel, — 'Patience!'  he  whispered — 'we  shall 
meet  ere  long  !'  What  did  he  mean? — what  possible  meeting 
can  there  be  now,  when  death  must  close  the  gate  of  life,  and 
even  love  would  come  too  late ! 

I  have  unlocked  my  jewel-case  and  taken  from  it  the  deadly 
thing  secreted  there, — a  poison  that  was  entrusted  to  me  by 
one  of  the  physicians  who  lately  attended  my  mother.  '  Keep 
this  under  lock  and  key,'  he  said,  '  and  be  sure  that  it  is  used 
only  for  external  purposes.  There  is  sufficient  in  this  flask  to 
kill  ten  men  if  swallowed  by  mistake.'  I  look  at  it  wonder- 
ingly.  It  is  colourless, — and  there  is  not  enough  to  fill  a 
teaspoon,  ...  yet  ...  it  will  bring  down  upon  me  an 
eternal  darkness,  and  close  up  for  ever  the  marvellous  scenes 
of  the  universe  !  So  little  !— to  do  so  much  !  I  have  fastened 
Lucio's  wedding-gift  round  my  waist,— the  beautiful  snake  of 
jewels  that  clings  to  me  as  though  it  were  charged  with  an 
embrace  from  him,— ah  !  would  I  could  cheat  myself  into  so 
pleasing  a  fancy  !  ...  I  am  trembling,  but  not  with  cold  or 
fear, — it  is  simply  an  excitation  of  the  nerves,— an  instinctive 
recoil  of  flesh  and  blood  at  the  near  prospect  of  death  .  .  . 
How  brilliantly  the  sun  shines  through  my  window  ! — its 
callous  golden  stare  has  watched  so  many  tortured  creatures  die 
without  so  much  as  a  cloud  to  dim  its  radiance  by  way  of  the 
suggestion  of  pity  !     If  there  were  a  God,  I  fancy  He  would 


404  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

be  like  the  siin, — glorious,  changeless,  unapproachable,  beauti- 
ful, but  pitiless  ! 

Out  of  all  the  various  types  of  human  beings  I  think  I  hate 
the  class  called  poets  most.  I  used  to  love  them  and  believe 
in  them  ;  but  I  know  them  now  to  be  mere  weavers  of  lies, — 
builders  of  cloud  castles  in  which  no  throbbing  life  can  breathe, 
no  weary  heart  find  rest.  Love  is  their  chief  motive, — they 
either  idealize  or  degrade  it,— and  of  the  love  we  women  long 
for  most  they  have  no  conception.  They  can  only  sing  of 
brute  passion  or  ethical  impossibilities, — of  the  mutual  great 
sympathy,  the  ungrudging  patient  tenderness  that  should  make 
love  lovely,  they  have  no  sweet  things  to  say.  Between  their 
strained  aestheticism  and  unbridled  sensualism,  my  spirit  has 
been  stretched  on  the  rack  and  broken  on  the  wheel,  ...  I 
should  think  many  a  wretched  woman  wrecked  among  love's 
disillusions  must  curse  them  as  I  do  ! 

I  am  ready  now,  I  think.  There  is  nothing  more  to  say. 
I  offer  no  excuses  for  myself.  I  am  as  I  was  made, — a  proud 
and  rebellious  woman,  self-willed  and  sensual,  seeing  no  fault 
in  free  love,  and  no  crime  in  conjugal  infidelity, — and  if  I  am 
vicious,  I  can  honestly  declare  that  my  vices  have  been  en- 
couraged and  fostered  in  me  by  most  of  the  literary  teachers 
of  my  time.  I  married,  as  most  women  of  my  set  marry, 
merely  for  money, — I  loved,  as  most  women  of  my  set  love, 
for  mere  bodily  attraction, — I  die,  as  most  women  of  my  set 
will  die,  either  naturally  or  self-slain,  in  utter  atheism,  rejoicing 
that  there  is  no  God  and  no  Hereafter. 

I  had  the  poison  in  my  hand  a  moment  ago,  ready  to  take, 
when  I  suddenly  felt  someone  approaching  me  stealthily  from 
behind,  and  glancing  up  quickly  at  the  mirror  I  saw  .  .  .  my 
mother  !  Her  face,  hideous  and  ghastly  as  it  had  been  in  her 
last  illness,  was  reflected  in  the  glass,  peering  over  my  shoulder  ! 
I  sprang  up  and  confronted  her, she  was  gone  !     And  now 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  405 

I  am  shivering  with  cold,  and  I  feel  a  chill  dampness  on  my 
forehead, — mechanically  I  have  soaked  a  handkerchief  with 
perfume  from  one  of  the  silver  bottles  on  the  dressing  table,  and 
have  passed  it  across  my  temples  to  help  me  recover  from  this 
sick  swooning  sensation.  To  recover  ! — how  foolish  of  me, 
seeing  I  am  about  to  die.  I  do  not  believe  in  ghosts, — yet  I 
could  have  sworn  my  mother  was  actually  present  just  now,— of 
course  it  was  an  optical  delusion  of  my  own  feverish  brain.  The 
strong  scent  on  my  handkerchief  reminds  me  of  Paris — I  can 
see  the  shop  where  I  bought  this  particular  perfume,  and  the 
well-dressed  doll  of  a  man  who  served  me,  with  his  little  waxed 
moustache  and  his  indefinable  French  manner  of  conveying  a 
speechless  personal  compliment  while  making  out  a  bill.  .  .  . 
Laughing  at  this  recollection  I  see  my  face  radiate  in  the 
glass, — my  eyes  flash  into  vivid  kistre,  and  the  dimples  near 
my  lips  come  and  go,  giving  my  expression  an  enchanting 
sweetness.  Yet  in  a  few  hours  this  loveliness  will  be  de- 
stroyed,— and  in  a  few  days,  the  worms  will  twine  where 
the  smile  is  now  ! 

An  idea  has  come  upon  me  that  perhaps  I  ought  to  say  a 
prayer.  It  would  be  hypocritical, — but  conventional.  To 
die  fashionably,  one  ought  to  concede  a  few  words  to  the 
church.  And  yet  ...  to  kneel  down  with  clasped  hands 
and  tell  an  inactive,  unsympathetic,  selfish,  paid  community 
called  a  church,  that  I  am  going  to  kill  myself  for  the  sake  of 
love  and  love's  despair,  and  that  therefore  I  humbly  implore 
its  forgiveness  for  the  act,  seems  absurd, — as  absurd  as  to  tell 
the  same  thing  to  a  non-existent  Deity.  I  suppose  the  scien- 
tists do  not  think  what  a  strange  predicament  their  advanced 
theories  put  the  human  mind  in  at  the  hour  of  death.  They 
forget  that  on  the  brink  of  the  grave,  thoughts  come  that  will 
not  be  gainsaid,  and  that  cannot  be  appeased  by  a  learned 
thesis.  .  .  .  However,  I  will  not  pray, — it  would  seem  to 
myself  cowardly  that  I,  who  have  never  said  my  prayers 
since  I  was  a  child,  should  run  over  them  now  in  a  foolish 


4o6  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

babbling  attempt  to  satisfy  the  powers  invisible, — I  could 
not,  out  of  sheer  association,  appeal  to  Mr  Swinburne's 
*  crucified  carrion'  !  Besides  I  do  not  believe  in  the  powers 
invisible  at  all, — I  feel  that  once  outside  this  life,  'the  rest,' 
as  Hamlet  said,  '  is  silence.' 

I  have  been  staring  dreamily  and  in  a  sort  of  stupefaction 
at  the  little  poison-flask  in  my  hand.  //  is  quite  empty  )iow.  I 
have  swallowed  every  drop  of  the  liquid  it  contained, — I  took 
it  quickly  and  determinately  as  one  takes  nauseous  medicine 
without  allowing  myself  another  moment  of  time  for  thought 
or  hesitation.  It  tasted  acrid  and  burning  on  my  tongue, — 
but  at  present  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  strange  or  painful 
result.  I  shall  watch  my  face  in  the  mirror  and  trace  the 
oncoming  of  death, — this  will  be  at  any  rate  a  new  sensation 
not  without  interest. 

My  mother  is  here, — here  with  me  in  this  room  I  She  is 
moving  about  restlessly,  making  wild  gestures  with  her  hands 
and  trying  to  speak.  She  looks  as  she  did  when  she  was 
dying, — only  more  alive,  more  sentient.  I  have  followed  her 
up  and  down,  but  am  unable  to  touch  her, — she  eludes  my 
grasp.  I  have  called  her  '  Mother  !  Mother  ! '  but  no  sound 
issues  from  her  white  lips.  Her  face  is  so  appalling  that  I 
was  seized  with  a  convulsion  of  terror  a  moment  ago  and  fell 
on  my  knees  before  her  imploring  her  to  leave  me, — and  then 
she  paused  in  her  gliding  to  and  fro  and — smiled  !  What  a 
hideous  smile  it  was  ?  I  think  I  lost  consciousness,  ...  for 
I  found  myself  lying  on  the  ground.  A  sharp  and  terrible 
pain  running  through  me  made  me  spring  to  my  feet,  .  .  . 
and  I  bit  my  lips  till  they  bled,  lest  I  should  scream  aloud 
with  the  agony  I  suffered  and  so  alarm  the  house.  When  the 
paroxysm  passed  I  saw  my  mother  standing  quite  near  to  me, 
dumbly  watching  me  with  a  strange  expression  of  wonder  and 
remorse.  I  tottered  past  her  and  back  to  this  chair  where  I 
now  sit,  ...  I  am  calmer  now,  and  I  am  able  to  realize  that 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  407 

she  is  only  the  phantom  of  my  own  brain — that  \  fancy  she  is 
here,  while  knowing  she  is  dead. 

Torture  indescribable  has  made  of  me  a  writhing,  moaning, 
helpless  creature  for  the  past  few  minutes.  Truly  that  drug 
was  deadly, — the  pain  is  horrible  .  .  .  horrible  !  ...  it  has 
left  me  quivering  in  every  limb  and  palpitating  in  every 
nerve.  Looking  at  my  face  in  the  glass  I  see  that  it  has  al- 
ready altered.  It  is  drawn  and  livid, — all  the  fresh  rose-tint 
of  my  lips  has  gone, — my  eyes  protrude  unnaturally,  .  .  . 
there  are  dull  blue  marks  at  the  corners  of  my  mouth  and  in 
the  hollows  of  my  temples,  and  I  observe  a  curious  quick  pul- 
sation in  the  veins  of  my  throat.  Be  my  torment  what  it  will, 
now  there  is  no  remedy, — and  I  am  resolved  to  sit  here  and 
study  my  own  features  to  the  end.  *  The  reaper  whose  name 
is  Death'  must  surely  be  near,  ready  to  gather  my  long  hair 
in  his  skeleton  hand  like  a  sheaf  of  ripe  corn,  .  .  .  my  poor 
beautiful  hair  ! — how  I  have  loved  its  glistening  ripples,  and 
brushed  it,  and  twined  it  round  my  fingers,  .  .  .  and  how 
soon  it  will  lie  like  a  dank  weed  in  the  mould  ! 

A  devouring  fire  is  in  my  brain  and  body, — I  am  burning 
with  heat,  and  parched  with  thirst, — I  have  drunk  deep 
draughts  of  cold  water,  but  this  has  not  relieved  me.  The  sun 
glares  in  upon  me  like  an  open  furnace, — I  tried  to  rise  and 
close  the  blind  against  it,  but  find  I  have  no  force  to  stand 
upright.  The  strong  radiance  blinds  me  : — the  silver  toilet 
boxes  on  my  table  glitter  like  so  many  points  of  swords.  It 
is  by  a  powerful  effort  of  will  that  I  am  able  to  continue 
writing, — my  head  is  swimming  round,  and  there  is  a  choking 
sensation  in  my  throat. 

A  moment  since  I  thought  I  was  dying.  Torn  asunder  as  it 
were  by  the  most  torturing  pangs,  I  could  have  screamed  for 
help, — and  would  have  done  so,  had  voice  been  left  me.  But 
I  cannot  speak  above  a  whisper, — I  mutter  my  own  name  to 


4o8  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

myself,  '  Sibyl !  Sibyl !'  and  can  scarcely  hear  it.  My  mother 
stands  beside  me, — apparently  waiting; — a  little  while  ago 
1  thought  I  heard  her  say  '  Come,  Sibyl !  Come  to  your  chosen 
lover!'  Now  I  am  conscious  of  a  great  silence  everywhere, 
...  a  numbness  has  fallen  upon  me,  and  a  delicious  respite 
from  ]xiin,  —  but  I  see  my  face  in  the  glass  and  know  it  is  the 
face  of  the  dead.  It  will  soon  be  all  over, — a  few  more  un- 
easy breathings, — and  I  shall  be  at  rest.  I  am  glad,  for  the 
world  and  I  were  never  good  friends ; — I  am  sure  that  if  we 
could  know,  before  we  were  born,  what  life  really  is,  we  should 
never  take  the  trouble  to  live. 

A  horrible  fear  has  suddenly  beset  me.  What  if  death  were 
not  what  the  scientists  deem  it, — suppose  it  were  another  form 
of  life?  Can  it  be  that  I  am  losing  rea-on  and  courage  to- 
gether? ...  or  what  is  this  terrible  misgiving  that  is  taking 
possession  of  me  ?  .  .  .1  begin  to  falter  ...  a  strange  sense 
of  horror  is  creeping  over  me  ...  I  have  no  more  physical 
pain,  but  something  worse  than  pain  oppresses  me  ...  a  feel- 
ing that  I  cannot  define.  I  am  dying  .  .  .  dying  ! — I  repeat 
this  to  myself  for  comfort  .  .  .  in  a  little  while  I  shall  be  deaf 
and  blind  and  unconscious  .  .  .  why  then  is  the  silence  around 
me  now  broken  through  by  sound  ?  I  listen,  and  I  hear  dis- 
tinctly the  clamour  of  wild  voices  mingled  with  a  sullen  jar 
and  roll  as  of  distant  thunder  !  .  .  .  My  mother  stands  closer 
to  me,  .  .   .  she  is  stretching  out  her  hand  to  touch  mine ! 

O  God  1  .  .  .  Let  me  write — write — while  I  can  !  Let 
me  yet  hold  fast  the  thread  which  fastens  me  to  earth, — give 
me  time — time  before  I  drift  out,  lost  in  yonder  blackness  and 
flame  !  Let  me  write  for  others  the  awful  Truth,  as  I  see  it, — 
there  is  No  death  !  None — none  ! — /  cannot  die  !  I  am  pass- 
ing out  of  my  body, — I  am  being  wrenched  away  from  it  inch 
by  inch  in  inex})licable  mystic  torture, — but  I  am  not  dying, 
— I  am  being  carried  forward  into  a  new  life,  vague  and  vast 
.   .   .   I  see  a  new  world  full  of  dark  forms,  half  shaped   yet 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  409 

shapeless, — they  float  towards  me  beckoning  me  on  !  I  am 
actively  conscious — I  hear,  I  think,  1  know  !  Death  is  a  mere 
human  dream, — a  comforting  fancy  ;  it  has  no  real  existence, 
— there  is  nothing  in  the  Universe  but  Life.  O  hideous 
misery  ! — /  cannot  die  !  In  my  mortal  body  I  can  scarcely 
breathe, — the  pen  I  try  to  hold  writes  of  itself  rather  than 
through  my  shaking  hand, — but  these  pangs  are  the  throes  of 
birth — not  death  !  .  .  .  I  hold  back, — with  all  the  force  of  my 
soul  I  strive  not  to  plunge  into  that  black  abyss  I  see  before 
me — but — my  mother  drags  ?ne  with  her, — I  cannot  shake  her 
off.  I  hear  her  voice  now  ; — she  speaks  distinctly,  and  laughs 
as  though  she  wept,  .  .  .  '  Come,  Sibyl !  Soul  of  the  child 
I  bore,  come  and  meet  your  lover  !  Come  and  see  upon 
Whom  you  fixed  your  faith  !  Soul  of  the  woman  I  trained, 
return  to  that  from  whence  you  came  !'  Still  I  hold  back, — 
nude  and  trembling  I  stare  into  a  dark  void, — and  now  there 
are  wings  about  me, — wings  of  fiery  scarlet ! — they  fill  the 
space, — they  enfold  me, — they  propel  me, — they  rush  past 
and  whirl  around  me  stinging  me  as  with  flying  arrows  and 
showers  of  hail  ! 

Let  me  write  on, — write  on  with  this  dead  fleshly  hand,  .  .  . 
one  moment  more  time,  dread  God  !  .  .  .  one  moment  more 
to  write  the  Truth, — the  terrible  truth  of  death  whose  darkest 
secret.  Life,  is  unknown  to  men.  I  live  ! — a  new,  strong, 
impetuous  vitality  possesses  me,  though  my  mortal  body  is 
nearly  dead.  Faint  gasps  and  weak  shudderings  affect  it  still, 
— and  I,  outside  it  and  no  longer  of  it,  propel  its  perishing 
hand  to  write  these  final  words — /  live  !  To  my  despair  and 
terror, — to  my  remorse  and  agony,  I  live  I — oh,  the  unspeak- 
able misery  of  this  new  life  !  And  worst  of  all,  God  whom 
I  doubted,  God  whom  I  was  taught  to  deny, — this  wronged, 
blasphemed  and  outraged  God  exists  !  And  I  could  have 
found  Him  had  I  chosen, — this  knowledge  is  forced  upon  me 
as  I  am  torn  from  hence, — it  is  shouted  at  me  by  a  thousand 
wailing  voices  !  .  .  .  too  late  ! — too  late  ! — the  scarlet  wings 
s  35 


4IO  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

beat  me  downward, — these  strange  half-shapeless  forms  close 
round  and  drive  me  onward  ...  to  a  further  darkness,  .  .  . 
amid  wind  and  fire  ! 

Serve  me,  dead  hand,  once  more  ere  I  depart,  .  .  .  my 
tortured  spirit  must  seize  and  compel  you  to  write  down  this 
thing  unnamable,  that  earthly  eyes  may  read,  and  earthly 
souls  take  timely  warning  !  .  .  .  I  know  at  last  WHOM  I  have 
loved  ! — whom  I  have  chosen,  whom  I  have  worshipped  !  .  .  . 
O  God,  have  mercy  !  .  .  .  I  know  WHO  claims  my  worship 
now  and  drags  me  into  yonder  rolling  world  of  flame  !  .  .  . 
his  name  is         ' ' 

Here  the  manuscript  ended, — incomplete  and  broken  off 
abruptly, — and  there  was  a  blot  on  the  last  sentence  as  though 
the  pen  had  been  violently  wrenched  from  the  dying  fingers 
and  hastily  flung  down. 

The  clock  in  the  west  room  again  chimed  the  hour.  I  rose 
stiffly  from  my  chair,  trembling, — my  self-possession  was  giv- 
ing way,  and  I  began  to  feel  at  last  unnerved.  I  looked 
askance  at  my  dead  wife, — she,  who  with  a  superhuman  dying 
effort  had  declared  herself  to  be  yet  alive, — who,  in  some 
imaginable  strange  way  had  seemingly  written  after  death,  in 
a  frantic  desire  to  make  some  appalling  declaration  which 
nevertheless  remained  undeclared.  The  rigid  figure  of  the 
corpse  had  now  real  terrors  for  me, — I  dared  not  touch  it, — I 
scarcely  dared  to  look  at  it,  .  .  .  in  some  dim  inscrutable 
fashion  I  felt  as  if  *  scarlet  wings'  environed  it,  beating  me 
down,  yet  pressing  me  on, — me  too,  in  my  turn.  With  the 
manuscript  gathered  close  in  my  hand,  I  bent  nervously  for- 
ward to  blow  out  the  wax  lights  on  the  toilet  table,  ...  I 
saw  on  the  floor  the  handkerchief  odorous  with  the  French 
perfume  the  dead  woman  had  written  of, — I  picked  it  up  and 
placed  it  near  her  where  she  sat  grinning  hideously  at  her 
own  mirrored  ghastliness.  The  flash  of  the  jewelled  serpent 
round  her  waist  caught  my  eyes  anew  as  I  did  this,  and  I 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  411 

stared  for  a  moment  at  its  green  glitter,  dumbly  fascinated, — 
then,  moving  stealthily  with  the  cold  sweat  pouring  down  my 
back  and  every  pulse  in  me  rendered  feeble  by  sheer  horror, 
I  turned  to  leave  the  room.  As  I  reached  the  portiere  and 
lifted  it,  some  instinct  made  me  look  back  at  the  dread  pic- 
ture of  the  leading  '  society'  beauty  sitting  stark  and  livid- 
pale  before  her  own  stark  and  livid-pale  image  in  the  glass, — 
what  a  '  fashion-plate'  she  would  make  now,  I  thought,  for  a 
frivolous  and  hypocritical  *  ladies'  paper  ! ' 

''You  say  you  are  not  dead,  Sibyl!"  I  muttered  aloud — 
"  Not  dead,  but  living.  Then,  if  you  are  alive,  where  are 
you,  Sibyl? where  are  you?" 

The  heavy  silence  seemed  fraught  with  fearful  meaning, — 
the  light  of  the  electric  lamps  on  the  corpse  and  on  the  shim- 
mering silk  garment  wrapped  round  it  appeared  unearthly, — 
and  the  perfume  in  the  room  had  a  grave-like  earthy  smell. 
A  panic  seized  me,  and  dragging  fiantically  at  the  portiere  till 
all  its  velvet  folds  were  drawn  thickly  together,  I  made  haste 
to  shut  out  from  my  sight  the  horrible  figure  of  the  woman 
whose  bodily  fairness  I  had  loved  in  the  customary  way  of 
sensual  men, — and  left  her  without  so  much  as  a  pardoning  or 
pitying  kiss  of  farewell  on  the  cold  brow.  For,  .  .  .  after 
all  I  had  Myself  to  think  of,  .  .   .  and  She  was  dead ! 


XXXVII 


I  PASS  overall  the  details  of  polite  'shock,'  affected  sorrow, 
and  feigned  sympathy  of  society  at  my  wife's  sudden  death. 
No  one  was  really  grieved  about  it, — men  raised  their  eye- 
brows, shrugged  their  shoulders,  lit  extra  cigarettes  and  dis- 
missed the  subject  as  too  unpleasant  and  depressing  to  dwell 
upon, — women  were  glad  of  the  removal  of  a  too  beautiful 
and  too  much  admired  rival,  and  the  majority  of  fashionable 
folk  delighted  in  having  something  '  thrilling'  to  talk  about 


412  THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

in  the  tragic  circumstances  of  her  end.  As  a  rule,  people  are 
seldom  or  never  unselfish  enough  to  be  honestly  sorry  for  the 
evanishment  of  some  leading  or  brilliant  figure  from  their 
midst, — the  vacancy  leaves  room  for  the  pushing  in  of  smaller 
fry.  Be  sure  that  if  you  are  unhappily  celebrated  for  either 
beauty,  wit,  intellect,  or  all  three  together,  half  society  wishes 
you  dead  already,  and  the  other  half  tries  to  make  you  as 
wretched  as  possible  while  you  are  alive.  To  be  missed  at  all 
when  you  die,  some  one  must  love  you  very  deeply  and  un- 
selfishly ;  and  deep  unselfish  love  is  rarer  to  find  among 
mortals  than  a  pearl  in  a  dust-bin. 

Thanks  to  my  abundance  of  cash,  everything  concerning 
Sibyl's  suicide  was  admirably  managed.  In  consideration  of 
her  social  position  as  an  Earl's  daughter,  two  doctors  certified 
(on  my  paying  them  very  handsome  fees)  that  hers  was  a 
'death  by  misadventure,' — namely,  through  taking  an  acci- 
dental overdose  of  a  powerful  sleeping  draught.  It  was  the 
best  report  to  make, — and  the  most  respectable.  It  gave  the 
penny  press  an  opportunity  of  moralizing  on  the  dangers  that 
lurked  in  sleeping  draughts  generally, — and  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry  all  wrote  letters  to  their  favourite  periodicals  (signing 
their  names  in  full)  giving  their  opinions  as  to  the  nature  of 
sleeping  draughts,  so  that  for  a  week  at  least  the  ordinary 
dullness  of  the  newspapers  was  quite  enlivened  by  ungram- 
matical  gratis  '  copy.'  The  conventionalities  of  law,  decency 
and  order  were  throughout  scrupulously  observed  and  com- 
plied with, — everybody  was  paid  (which  was  the  chief  thing), 
and  everybody  was,  I  believe,  satisfied  with  what  they  man- 
aged to  make  out  of  the  death-payment.  The  funeral  gave 
joy  to  the  souls  of  all  undertakers, — it  was  so  expensive  and 
impressive.  The  florist's  trade  gained  something  of  an  im- 
petus by  the  innumerable  orders  received  for  wreaths  and 
crosses  made  of  the  costliest  flowers.  When  the  coffin  was 
carried  to  the  grave,  it  could  not  be  seen  for  the  load  of  blos- 
soms that  covered  it.  And  amid  all  the  '  cards'  and  '  loving 
tokens'  and  '  farewell  dearests'  and  '  not-lost-but-gone-befores' 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  413 

that  ticketed  the  white  masses  of  lilies,  gardenias  and  roses 
which  were  supposed  to  symbolize  the  innocence  and  sweetness 
of  the  poisoned  corpse  they  were  sent  to  adorn,  there  was  not 
one  honest  regret, — not  one  unfc^igned  expression  of  true  sor- 
row. Lord  Elton  made  a  sufficiently  striking  figure  of  dig- 
nified parental  woe,  but  on  the  whole  I  think  he  was  not  sorry 
for  his  daughter's  death,  since  the  only  opposing  obstacle  to 
his  marriage  with  Diana  Chesney  was  now  removed.  I  fancy 
Diana  herself  was  sorry,  so  far  as  such  a  frivolous  little 
American  could  be  sorry  for  anything, — perhaps,  however,  it 
would  be  more  correct  to  say  that  she  was  frightened.  Sibyl's 
sudden  end  startled  and  troubled  her, — but  I  am  not  sure  that 
it  grieved  her.  There  is  such  a  difference  between  unselfish 
grief,  and  the  mere  sense  of  nervous  personal  shock  !  Miss 
Charlotte  Fitzroy  took  the  news  of  her  niece's  death  with  that 
admirable  fortitude  which  frequently  characterizes  religious 
spinsters  of  a  certain  age.  She  put  by  her  knitting, — said 
*  God's  will  be  done  !'  and  sent  for  her  favourite  clergyman. 
He  came,  stayed  with  her  some  hours  drinking  strong  tea, — 
and  the  next  morning  at  church  administered  to  her  the  com- 
munion. This  done.  Miss  Fitzroy  went  on  the  blameless  and 
even  tenor  of  her  way,  wearing  the  same  virtuously  distressed 
expression  as  usual,  and  showed  no  further  sign  of  feeling. 
I,  as  the  afflicted  millionaire-husband,  was  no  doubt  the  most 
interesting  figure  on  the  scene ;  I  was,  I  know,  very  well  got 
up,  thanks  to  my  tailor,  and  to  the  affectionate  care  of  the 
chief  undertaker  who  handed  me  my  black  gloves  on  the  day 
of  the  funeral  with  servile  solicitude,  but  in  my  heart  I  felt 
myself  to  be  a  far  better  actor  than  Henry  Irving,  and  if  only 
for  my  admirable  mimicry  of  heart-break,  more  fully  worthy  of 
the  acolade.  Lucio  did  not  attend  the  obsequies, — he  wrote 
me  a  brief  note  of  sympathy  from  town,  and  hinted  that  he 
was  sure  I  could  understand  his  reasons  for  not  being  present. 
I  did  understand  of  course, — and  appreciated  his  respect,  as  I 
thought,  for  me  and  my  feelings, — yet  strange  and  incongru- 
ous as  it  may  seem,  I  never  longed  so  much  for  his  company 

35* 


414  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

as  I  did  then  !  However, — we  had  a  glorious  burial  of  my 
fair  and  false  lady, — prancing  horses  drew  coroneted  carriages 
in  a  long  defile  down  the  j)retty  Warwickshire  lanes  to  the 
grey  old  church,  picturesque  and  peaceful,  where  the  clergy- 
man and  his  assistants  in  newly-washed  surplices,  met  the 
flower-laden  coffin,  and  with  the  usual  conventional  mumblings, 
consigned  it  to  the  dust.  There  were  even  press-reporters 
present,  who  not  only  described  the  scene  as  it  did  not  hap- 
pen, but  who  also  sent  fancy  sketches,  to  their  respective 
journals,  of  the  church  as  it  did  7iot  exist.  I  mention  this 
simply  to  show  how  thoroughly  all  '  proper  forms'  were  carried 
out  and  conceded  to.  After  the  ceremony  all  we  *  mourners' 
went  back  to  Willowsmere  to  luncheon,  and  I  well  remember 
that  Lord  Elton  told  me  a  new  and  risque  joke  over  a  glass  of 
port  before  the  meal  was  finished.  The  undertakers  had  a 
sort  of  festive  banquet  in  the  servants'  hall, — and  taking  every- 
thing into  due  consideration,  my  wife's  death  gave  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure  to  many  people,  and  put  useful  money  into 
several  ready  pockets.  She  had  left  no  blank  in  society  that 
could  not  be  easily  filled  up, — she  was  merely  one  butterfly 
out  of  thousands,  more  daintily  colored  perhaps  and  more 
restless  in  flight, — but  never  judged  as  more  than  up  to  the 
butterfly  standard.  I  said  no  one  gave  her  an  honest 
regret,  but  I  was  wrong.  Mavis  Clare  was  genuinely,  almost 
passionately  grieved.  She  sent  no  flowers  for  the  coffin,  but 
she  came  to  the  funeral  by  herself,  and  stood  a  little  apart 
waiting  silently  till  the  grave  was  covered  in, — and  then,  just 
as  the  '  fashionable'  train  of  mourners  were  leaving  the 
churchyard,  she  advanced  and  placed  a  white  cross  of  her 
own  garden-lilies  across  the  newly-turned  brown  mould.  I 
noticed  her  action,  and  determined  that  before  I  left  Willows- 
mere  for  the  East  with  Lucio  (for  my  journey  had  only  been 
postponed  a  week  or  two  on  account  of  Sibyl's  death)  she 
should  know  all. 

The  day  came  when  I  carried  out  this  resolve.     It  was  a 
rainy  and  chill  afternoon,  and  I  found  Mavis  in  her  study, 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  415 

sitting  beside  a  bright  log  fire  with  her  small  terrier  in  her  lap 
and  her  faithful  St  Bernard  stretched  at  her  feet.  She  was 
absorbed  in  a  book, — and  over  her  watched  the  marble  Pallas, 
inflexible  and  austere.  As  I  entered  she  rose,  and  putting 
down  the  volume  and  her  pet  dog  together,  she  advanced  to 
meet  me  with  an  intense  sympathy  in  her  clear  eyes,  and  a 
wordless  pity  in  the  tremulous  lines  of  her  sweet  moulh.  It 
was  charming  to  see  how  sorry  she  felt  for  me, — and  it  was 
odd  that  I  could  not  feel  sorry  for  myself.  After  a  few  words 
of  embarrassed  greeting  I  sat  down  and  watched  her  silently, 
while  she  arranged  the  logs  in  the  fire  to  make  them  burn 
brighter,  and  for  the  moment  avoided  my  gaze. 

"I  suppose  you  know" — I  began  with  harsh  abruptness — 
"that  the  sleeping-draught  story  is  a  polite  fiction?  You 
know  that  my  wife  poisoned  herself  intentionally?" 

Mavis  looked  at  me  with  a  troubled  and  compassionate 
expression. 

"  I  feared  it  was  so — "   .   .   .  she  began  nervously. 

*'0h  there  is  nothing  either  to  fear  or  to  hope,"  I  said 
with  some  violence.  ^'- She  did  it.  And  can  you  guess  why 
she  did  it  ?  Because  she  was  mad  with  her  own  wickedness 
and  sensuality, — because  she  loved  with  a  guilty  love,  my 
friend  Lucio  Rimanez." 

Mavis  gave  a  little  cry  as  of  pain,  and  sat  down  white  and 
trembling. 

*'  You  can  read  quickly,  I  am  sure,"  I  went  on.  '*  Part  of 
the  profession  of  literature  is  the  ability  to  skim  books  and 
manuscripts  rapidly,  and  grasp  the  whole  gist  of  them  in  a 
few  minutes, — read  this — "  and  I  handed  her  the  rolled-up 
pages  of  Sibyl's  dying  declaration.  "  Let  me  stay  here,  while 
you  learn  from  that  what  sort  of  a  woman  she  was,  and  judge 
whether,  despite  her  beauty,  she  is  worth  a  regret." 

''Pardon  me,"  said  Mavis  gently — ''I  would  rather  not 
read  what  was  not  meant  for  my  eyes." 

"  But  it />  meant  for  your  eyes,"  I  retorted  impatiently. 
"  It  is  meant  for  everybody's  eyes  apparently,— it  is  addressed 


41 6  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

to  nobody  in  particular.  There  is  a  mention  of  you  in  it.  I 
beg — nay  1  command  you  to  read  it ! — I  want  your  opinion 
on  it, — your  advice  ;  you  may  possibly  suggest,  after  perusal, 
the  proper  sort  of  epitaph  I  ought  to  inscribe  on  the  monu- 
ment I  am  going  to  build  to  her  sacred  and  dear  memory." 

I  covered  my  face  with  one  hand  to  hide  the  bitter  smile 
which  I  knew  betrayed  my  thoughts,  and  pushed  the  manu- 
script towards  her.  Very  reluctantly  she  took  it, — and  slowly 
unrolling  it,  began  to  read.  For  several  minutes  there  was  a 
silence,  broken  only  by  the  crackling  of  the  logs  on  the  fire, 
and  the  regular  breathing  of  the  dogs  who  now  both  lay 
stretched  comfortably  in  front  of  the  wood  blaze.  1  looked 
covertly  at  the  woman  wdiose  fame  I  had  envied, — at  the 
girlish  figure,  the  coronal  of  soft  hair, — the  delicate,  drooping 
sensitive  face, — the  small  white  classic  hand  that  held  the 
written  sheets  of  paper  so  firmly  yet  so  tenderly, — the  very 
hand  of  the  Greek  marble  Psyche ; — and  I  thought  what 
short-sighted  asses  some  literary  men  are  who  suppose  they 
can  succeed  in  shutting  out  women  like  Mavis  Clare  from 
winning  everything  that  fame  or  fortune  can  offer.  Such  a 
head  as  hers,  albeit  covered  with  locks  fair  and  caressable, 
was  not  meant,  in  its  fine  shape  and  compactness,  for  submis- 
sion to  inferior  intelligences,  whether  masculine  or  feminine, — 
that  determined  little  chin,  which  the  firelight  delicately  out- 
lined, was  a  visible  declaration  of  the  strength  of  will  and  the 
indomitably  high  ambition  of  its  owaier, — and  yet,  .  .  .  the 
soft  eyes, — the  tender  mouth, — did  not  these  suggest  the 
sweetest  love,  the  purest  passion  that  ever  found  place  in  a 
woman's  heart?  I  lost  myself  in  dreamy  musing, — I  thought 
of  many  things  that  had  little  to  do  with  either  my  own  past 
or  present.  I  realized  that  now  and  then  at  rare  intervals 
God  makes  a  \voman  of  genius  with  a  thinker's  brain  and  an 
angel's  soul,  and  that  such  an  one  is  bound  to  be  a  destiny 
to  all  mortals  less  divinely  endowed,  and  a  glory  to  the  world 
in  which  she  dwells.  So  considering,  I  studied  Mavis  Clare's 
face  and  form, — I  saw  her  eyes  fill  \vith  tears  as  she  read  on; 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  417 

— why  should  she  weep,  I  wondered,  over  that  '  last  docu- 
ment' which  had  left  me  unmoved  and  callous  ?  I  was 
startled  almost  as  if  from  sleep  when  her  voice,  thrilling 
with  pain,  disturbed  the  stillness, — she  sprang  up,  gazing  at 
me  as  if  she  saw  some  horrible  vision. 

''Oh,  are  you  so  blind,"  she  cried,  ''as  not  to  see  what 
this  means  ?  Can  you  not  understand  ?  Do  you  not  know 
your  worst  enemy  ?' ' 

"  My  worst  enemy?"  I  echoed  amazed.  "You  surprise 
me,  Mavis, — what  have  I,  or  my  enemies  or  friends  to  do 
with  my  wife's  last  confession?  She  raved, — between  poison 
and  jassion,  she  could  not  tell,  as  you  see  by  her  final  words, 
whether  she  was  dead  or  alive, — and  her  writing  at  all  under 
such  stress  of  circumstances  was  a  phenomenal  effort, — but  it 
has  nothing  to  do  with  me  personally." 

"For  God's  sake  do  not  be  so  hard-hearted,"  said  Mavis 
passionately.  "To  me  these  last  words  of  Sibyl's, — poor, 
tortured,  miserable  girl ! — are  beyond  all  expression  horrible 
and  appalling.  Do  \  ou  mean  to  tell  me  you  have  no  belief  in 
a  future  life?" 

"  None."     I  answered  with  conviction. 

"Then  this  is  nothing  to  you? — this  solemn  assurance  of 
hers  that  she  is  not  dead,  but  living  again, — living  too,  in 
indesc:ribable  misery  ! — you  do  not  believe  it?" 

"Does  anyone  believe  the  ravings  of  the  dying!"  I  an- 
swered. "She  was,  as  I  have  said,  suffering  the  torments 
of  poison  and  passion, — and  in  those  torments  wrote  as  one 
tormented.   ..." 

"Is  it  impossible  to  convince  you  of  the  truth?"  asked 
Mavis  solemnly.  "  Are  you  so  diseased  in  your  spiritual  per- 
ceptions as  not  to  knoiv,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  this  world  is 
but  the  shadow  of  the  Other  Worlds  awaiting  us  ?  I  assure 
you,  as  I  live,  you  will  have  that  terrible  knowledge  forced 
upon  you  some  day  !  I  am  aware  of  your  theories, — your 
wife  had  the  same  beliefs  or  rather  non-beliefs  as  yourself, — 
yet  she  has  been  convinced  at  last.  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
bb 


4i8  THE    SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

argue  with  you.  If  this  last  letter  of  the  unhappy  girl  you 
wedded  cannot  ojjen  your  eyes  to  the  eternal  facts  you  choose 
to  ignore,  nothing  will  ever  help  you.  You  are  in  the  power 
of  your  enemy  !" 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Mavis?"  I  asked  astonished, 
observing  that  she  stood  like  one  suddenly  appalled  in  a 
dream,  her  eyes  fixed  musingly  on  vacancy,  and  her  lips 
trembling  apart. 

"Your  enemy — your  enemy!"  she  repeated  with  energy. 
''It  seems  to  me  as  if  his  Shadow  stood  near  you  now  ! 
Listen  to  this  voice  from  the  dead — Sibyl's  voice  ! — what 
does  she  say? — ^O  God,  have  mercy  !  .  .  .  I  know  who  clawis 
my  worship  now  and  drags  me  into  yo?ider  rolling  world  of 
flame  .   .   .   his  nafne  is — '  ' ' 

"Well!"  I  interrupted  eagerly.  "She  breaks  off  there; 
his  name  is " 

"  Lucio  Rimanez  !"  said  Mavis  in  a  thrilling  tone.  "  I  do 
not  know  from  whence  he  came, — but  I  take  God  to  witness 
my  belief  that  he  is  a  worker  of  evil, — a  fiend  in  beautiful 
human  shape, — a  destroyer  and  a  corrupter  !  The  curse  of 
him  fell  on  Sibyl  the  moment  she  met  him, — the  same  curse 
rests  on  you  !  Leave  him  if  you  are  wise, — take  your  chance 
of  escape  while  it  remains  to  you, — and  never  let  him  see 
your  face  again  !" 

She  spoke  with  a  kind  of  breathless  haste  as  though  impelled 
by  a  force  not  her  own, — I  stared  at  her  amazed,  and  in  a 
manner  irritated. 

"  Such  a  course  of  action  would  be  impossible  tome.  Mavis," 
I  said  somewhat  coldly.  "The  Prince  Rimanez  is  my  best 
friend — no  man  ever  had  a  better ; — and  his  loyalty  to  me  has 
been  put  to  a  severe  test  under  which  most  men  would  have 
failed.     I  have  not  told  you  all." 

And  I  related  in  a  few  words  the  scene  I  had  witnessed  be- 
tween my  wife  and  Lucio  in  the  music-gallery  at  Willowsmere. 
She  listened, — but  with  an  evident  effort, — and  pushing  back 
her  clustering  hair  from  her  brows,  she  sighed  heavily. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  419 

*'I  am  sorry, — but  it  does  not  alter  my  conviction,"  she 
said.  *'  I  look  upon  your  best  friend  as  your  worst  foe.  And 
I  feel  you  do  not  realize  the  awful  calamity  of  your  wife's 
death  in  its  true  aspect.  Will  you  forgive  me  if  I  ask  you  to 
leave  me  now? — Lady  Sibyl's  letter  has  affected  me  terribly — 
I  feel  I  cannot  speak  about  it  any  more.  ...  I  wish  I  had  not 
read  it.  .  .  ." 

She  broke  off  with  a  little  half-suppressed  sob, — I  saw  she 
was  unnerved,  and  taking  the  manuscript  from  her  hand  I  said 
half-ban  teringly — 

"  You  cannot  then  suggest  an  epitaph  for  my  wife's  monu- 
ment?" 

She  turned  upon  me  with  a  grand  gesture  of  reproach. 

"  Yes  I  can  !"  she  replied  in  a  low  indignant  voice.  "  In- 
scribe it  as — '  From  a  pitiless  hand  to  a  broken  heart !'  That 
will  suit  the  dead  girl,  and  you, — the  living  man  !" 

Her  rustling  gown  swept  across  my  feet, — she  passed  me  and 
was  gone.  Stupefied  by  her  sudden  anger  and  equally  sudden 
departure  I  stood  inert, — the  St  Bernard  rose  from  the  hearth- 
rug and  glowered  at  me  suspiciously,  evidently  wishing  me  to 
take  my  leave, — Pallas  Athene  stared,  as  usual,  through  me  and 
beyond  me  in  a  boundless  scorn, — all  the  various  objects  in 
this  quiet  study  seemed  silently  to  eject  me  as  an  undesired 
occupant.  I  looked  round  it  once  longingly  as  a  tired  outcast 
may  look  on  a  peaceful  garden  and  wish  in  vain  to  enter. 

''How  like  her  sex  she  is  after  all!"  I  said  half  aloud. 
*'  She  blames  me  for  being  pitiless, — and  forgets  that  Sibyl  was 
the  sinner, — not  I !  No  matter  how  guilty  a  woman  may  be, 
she  generally  manages  to  secure  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy, 
— a  man  is  always  left  out  in  the  cold." 

A  shuddering  sense  of  loneliness  oppressed  me  as  my  eyes 
wandered  round  the  restful  room.  The  odour  of  lilies  was  in 
the  air,  exhaled,  so  I  fancied,  from  the  delicate  and  dainty 
personality  of  Mavis  herself. 

"  If  I  had  only  known  her  first, — and  loved  her  !"  I  mur- 
mured, as  I  turned  away  at  last  and  left  the  house. 


420  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

But  then  I  remembered  I  had  hated  her  before  I  ever  met 
her, — and  not  only  had  I  hated  her,  but  I  had  villified  and 
misrepresented  her  work  with  a  scurrilous  pen  under  the  shield 
of  anonymity,  and  out  of  sheer  malice, — thus  giving  her  in 
the  public  sight  the  greatest  proof  of  her  own  genius  a  gifted 
woman  can  ever  win, — man's  envy  ! 


XXXVIII 


Two  weeks  later  I  stood  on  the  deck  of  Lucio's  yacht 
*The  Flame,' — a  vessel  whose  complete  magnificence  filled 
me  as  well  as  all  othdr  beholders  with  bewildered  wonderment 
and  admiration.  She  was  a  miracle  of  speed,  her  motive 
power  being  electricity ;  and  the  electric  engines  with  which 
she  was  fitted  were  so  complex  and  remarkable  as  to  baffle  all 
would-be  inquirers  into  the  secret  of  their  mechanism  and 
potency.  A  large  crowd  of  spectators  gathe^-ed  to  see  her  as 
she  lay  off  Southampton,  attracted  by  the  beauty  of  her  shape 
and  appearance, — some  bolder  spirits  even  came  out  in  tugs 
and  row-boats,  hoping  to  be  allowed  to  make  a  visit  of  in- 
spection on  board,  but  the  sailors,  powerfully-built  men  of  a 
foreign  and  somewhat  unpleasing  type,  soon  intimated  that 
the  company  of  such  inquisitive  persons  was  undesirable  and 
unwelcome.  With  white  sails  spread  and  a  crimson  flag  fly- 
ing from  her  mast,  she  weighed  anchor  at  sunset  on  the  after- 
noon of  the  day  her  owner  and  I  jo  ned  her,  and  moving 
through  the  waters  with  delicious  noiselessness  and  incredible 
rapidity,  soon  left  far  behind  her  the  English  shore,  looking 
like  a  white  line  in  the  mist,  or  the  pale  vision  of  a  land  that 
might  once  have  been.  I  had  done  a  few  quixotic  things  be- 
fore departing  from  my  native  country, — for  example,  I  had 
made  a  free  gift  of  his  former  home,  Willowsmere,  to  Lord 
Elton,  taking  a  sort  of  sullen  pleasure  in  thinking  that  he,  the 
spendthrift  nobleman,  owed  the  restoration  of  his  property  to 
viCj — to  me  who  had   never  been  either  a  successful  linen- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  421 

draper  or  furniture-man,  but  simply  an  author,  one  of  '  those 
sort  of  people'  Avhom  my  lord  and  my  lady  imagine  they  can 
*  patronize'  and  neglect  again  at  pleasure  without  danger  to 
themselves.  The  arrogant  fools  invariably  forget  what  lasting 
vengeance  can  be  taken  for  an  unmerited  slight  by  the  owner 
of  a  brilliant  pen  !  I  was  glad  too,  in  a  way,  to  realize  that 
the  daughter  of  the  American  railway-king  would  be  brought 
to  the  grand  old  house  to  air  her  '  countess-ship,'  and  look  at 
her  prettily  pert  little  physiognomy  in  the  very  mirror  where 
Sibyl  had  watched  herself  die.  I  do  not  know  why  this  idea 
pleased  me,  for  I  bore  no  grudge  against  Diana  Chcsney, — 
she  was  vulgar  but  harmless,  and  would  probably  make  a 
much  more  popular  chatelaine  at  Willowsmere  Court  than  my 
wife  had  ever  been.  Among  other  things,  I  dismissed  my 
man  Morris,  and  made  him  miserable, — with  the  gift  of  a 
thousand  pounds,  to  marry  and  start  a  business  on.  He  was 
miserable  because  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  what  busi- 
ness to  adopt,  his  anxiety  being  to  choose  the  calling  that 
would  '  pay'  best, — and  also,  because,  though  he  '  had  his  eye' 
upon  several  young  women,  he  could  not  tell  which  among 
them  would  be  likely  to  be  least  extravagant,  and  the  most  ser- 
viceable as  a  cook  and  housekeeper.  The  love  of  money  and 
the  pains  of  taking  care  of  it,  embittered  his  days  as  it  em- 
bitters the  days  of  most  men,  and  my  unexpected  munificence 
towards  him  burdened  him  with  such  a  weight  of  trouble  as 
robbed  him  of  natural  sleep  and  appetite.  I  cared  nothing 
for  his  perplexities,  however,  and  gave  him  no  advice,  good  or 
bad.  My  other  servants  I  dismissed,  each  with  a  considerable 
gift  of  money,  not  that  I  particularly  wished  to  benefit  thcin, 
but  simply  because  I  desired  them  to  speak  well  of  me.  And 
in  this  world  it  is  very  evident  that  the  only  way  to  get  a  good 
opinion  is  to  pay  for  it  I  I  gave  orders  to  a  famous  Italian 
sculptor  for  Sibyl's  monument,  English  sculptors  having  no 
conception  of  sculpture, — it  was  to  be  of  exquisite  design, 
wTought  in  purest  white  marble,  the  chief  adornment  being 
the  centre-figure  of  an  angel  ready  for  flight,  with  the  face  of 

36 


422  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

Sibyl  faithfully  copied  from  her  picture.  Because,  however 
devilish  a  woman  may  be  in  her  life-time,  one  is  bound  by  all 
the  laws  of  social  hypocrisy  to  make  an  angel  of  her  as  soon 
as  she  is  dead  !  Just  before  I  left  London  I  heard  that  my 
old  college-friend  'Boffles,'  John  Carrington,  had  met  with  a 
sudden  end.  Busy  at  the  '  retorting'  of  his  gold,  he  had  been 
choked  by  the  mercurial  fumes  and  had  died  in  hideous  tor- 
ment. At  one  time  this  news  would  have  deeply  affected  me, 
but  now,  I  was  scarcely  sorry.  I  had  heard  nothing  of  him 
since  I  had  come  into  my  fortune, — he  had  never  even  written 
to  congratulate  me.  Always  full  of  my  own  self-importance, 
I  judged  this  as  great  neglect  on  his  part,  and  now  that  he  was 
dead  I  felt  no  more  than  any  of  us  feel  now-a-days  at  the  loss 
of  friends.  And  that  is  very  little, — we  have  really  no  time 
to  be  sorry, — so  many  people  are  always  dying  ! — and  we  are 
in  such  a  desperate  hurry  to  rush  on  to  death  ourselves  ! 
Nothing  seemed  to  touch  me  that  did  not  closely  concern 
my  own  personal  interest, — and  I  had  no  affections  left,  unless 
I  may  call  the  vague  tenderness  I  had  for  Mavis  Clare  an 
affection.  Yet,  to  be  honest,  this  very  emotion  was  after  all 
nothing  but  a  desire  to  be  consoled,  pitied  and  loved  by  her, 
— to  be  able  to  turn  upon  the  world  and  say,  ^'  This  woman 
whom  you  have  lifted  on  your  shield  of  honour  and  crowned 
with  laurels, — she  loves  nic — she  is  not  yours,  but  mine  I' ^ 
Purely  interested  and  purely  selfish  was  the  longing, — and  it 
deserved  no  other  name  than  selfishness. 

My  feelings  for  Rimanez  too  began  at  this  time  to  undergo 
a  curious  change.  The  fascination  I  had  for  him,  the  power 
he  exercised  over  me  remained  as  great  as  ever,  but  I  found 
myself  often  absorbed  in  a  close  study  of  him,  strangely  against 
my  own  will.  Sometimes  his  every  look  seemed  fraught  with 
meaning, — his  every  gesture  suggestive  of  an  almost  terrific 
authority.  He  was  always  to  me  the  most  attractive  of  beings, 
— nevertheless  there  was  an  uneasy  sensation  of  doubt  and 
fear  growing  up  in  my  mind  regarding  him, — a  painful  anxiety 
to  know  more  about  him  than  he  had  ever  told  me, — and  on 


THE   SORROWS  OV  SATAN  423 

rare  occasions  I  experienced  a  sudden  shock  of  inexplicable 
repulsion  against  him  which  like  a  tremendous  wave  threw  me 
back  with  violence  upon  myself  and  left  me  half  stunned  with 
a  dread  of  I  knew  not  what.  Alone  with  him,  as  it  were,  on 
the  wide  sea,  cut  off  for  a  time  from  all  other  intercourse  than 
that  which  we  shared  together,  these  sensations  were  very 
strong  upon  me.  I  began  to  note  many  things  which  I  had 
been  too  blind  or  too  absorbed  in  my  own  pursuits  to  ob  erve 
before ;  the  offensive  presence  of  Amiel,  who  acted  as  chief 
steward  on  board  the  yacht,  filled  me  now  not  only  with  dis- 
like, but  nervous  apprehension, — the  dark  and  more  or  less 
rejoulsive  visages  of  the  crew  haunted  me  in  my  dreams  ; — and 
one  day,  leaning  over  the  vessel's  edge  and  gazing  blankly 
down  into  the  fathomless  water  below,  I  fell  to  thinking  of 
strange  sorceries  of  the  East,  and  stories  of  magicians  who  by 
the  exercise  of  unlawful  science  did  so  make  victims  of  men 
and  delude  them  that  their  wills  were  entirely  ijerverted  and 
no  longer  tlieir  own.  I  do  not  know  why  this  passing  thought 
should  have  suddenly  overwhelmed  me  with  deep  depression, 
— but  when  I  looked  up,  to  me  the  sky  had  grown  dark,  and 
the  face  of  one  of  the  sailors  who  was  near  me  polishing  the 
brass  hand-rail,  seemed  singularly  threatening  and  sinister.  I 
moved  to  go  to  the  other  side  of  the  deck,  when  a  hand  was 
gently  laid  on  my  shoulder  from  behind,  and  turning,  I  met 
the  sad  and  splendid  eyes  of  Lucio. 

"Are  you  growing  weary  of  the  voyage,  Geoffrey?"  he 
asked — "weary  of  those  two  suggestions  of  eternity — the  in- 
terminable sky,  the  interminable  sea?  I  am  afraid  you  are  ! — 
man  easily  gets  fatigued  with  his  own  littleness  and  powerless- 
ness  when  he  is  set  afloat  on  a  plank  between  air  and  ocean. 
Yet  we  are  travelling  as  swiftly  as  electricity  will  bear  us, — 
and,  as  worked  in  this  vessel,  it  is  carrying  us  at  a  far  greater 
speed  than  you  perhaps  realize  or  imagine." 

I  made  no  immediate  answer,  but  taking  his  arm  strolled 
slowly  up  and  down.  I  felt  he  was  looking  at  me,  but  I 
avoided  meeting  his  gaze. 


424  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"  You  have  been  thinking  of  your  wife?"  he  queried  softly 
and,  as  I  thought,  sympathetically.  '*  I  have  shunned, — for 
reasons  you  know  of, — all  allusion  to  the  tragic  end  of  so 
beautiful  a  creature.  Beauty  is,  alas ! — so  often  subject  to 
hysteria !  Yet — if  you  had  any  faith,  you  w^ould  believe  she 
is  an  angel  now." 

I  stopped  short  at  this,  and  looked  straight  at  him.  There 
was  a  fine  smile  on  his  delicate  mouth. 

*'An  angel!"  I  repeated  slowly — "or  a  devil?  Which 
would  you  say  she  is  ? — you,  who  sometimes  declare  that  you 
believe  in  Heaven, — and  Hell?" 

He  was  silent,  but  the  dreamy  smile  remained  still  on  his 
lips. 

''  Come,  speak  !"  I  said  roughly.  *'  You  can  be  frank  with 
me,  you  know, — angel  or  devil — which?" 

*'My  dear  Geoffrey!"  he  remonstrated  gently  and  with 
gravity — "a  woman  is  always  an  angel, — both  here  and 
hereafter ! ' ' 

I  laughed  bitterly.  "If  that  is  part  of  your  faith  I  am 
sorry  for  you  ! ' ' 

"I  have  not  spoken  of  my  faiih,"  he  rejoined  in  colder 
accents,  lifting  his  brilliant  eyes  to  the  darkening  heaven. 
"  I  am  not  a  Salvationist,  that  I  should  bray  forth  a  creed  to 
the  sound  of  trump  and  drum." 

"All  the  same,  you  luwe  a  creed,"  I  persisted — "and  I 
fancy  it  must  be  a  strange  one  !  If  you  remember,  you 
promised  to  explain  it  to  me " 

"Are  you  ready  to  receive  such  an  explanation?"  he  asked 
in  a  somewhat  ironical  tone.  "  No,  my  dear  friend  ! — permit 
me  to  say  you  are  not  ready — not  yet !  My  beliefs  are  too 
positive  to  be  brought  even  into  contact  with  your  contradic- 
tions,— too  frightfully  real  to  submit  to  your  doubts  for  a 
moment.  You  would  at  once  begin  to  revert  to  the  puny 
used-up  old  arguments  of  Voltaire,  Schopenhauer  and  Huxley, 
— little  atomic  theories  like  grains  of  dust  in  the  whirlwind  of 
My  knowledge  !     I  can  tell  you  I  believe   in   God  as  a  very 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  425 

Actual  and  Positive  Being, — and  that  is  presumably  the  first 
of  the  Church  articles." 

"You  believe  in  God!"  I  echoed  his  words,  staring  at 
him  stupidly.  He  seemed  in  earnest.  In  fact  he  had  always 
seemed  in  earnest  on  the  subject  of  Deity.  Vaguely  I  thought 
of  a  woman  in  society  whom  I  slightly  knew, — an  ugly  woman, 
unattractive  and  mean-minded,  who  passed  her  time  in  enter- 
taining semi-Royalties  and  pushing  herself  amongst  them, — 
she  had  said  to  me  one  day — "I  hate  people  who  believe  in 
God,  don't  you?     The  idea  of  a  God  makes  me  sick  /" 

"You  believe  in  God  !"  I  repeated  again  dubiously. 

"Look!"  he  said,  raising  his  hand  towards  the  sky. 
"There,  a  few  drifting  clouds  cover  millions  of  worlds,  im- 
penetrable, mysterious,  yet  actual; — down  there,"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  sea,  "  lurk  a  thousand  things  of  which,  though 
the  ocean  is  a  part  of  earth,  human  beings  have  not  yet 
learned  the  nature.  Between  these  upper  and  lower  spaces 
of  the  Incomprehensible  yet  Absolute,  you,  a  finite  atom  of 
limited  capabilities  stand,  uncertain  how  long  the  frail  thread 
of  your  life  shall  last,  yet  arrogantly  balancing  the  question 
with  your  own  poor  brain,  as  to  whether  you, — yoic  in  your 
utter  littleness  and  incompetency  shall  condescend  to  accept  a 
God  or  not !  I  confess,  that  of  all  astonishing  things  in  the 
Universe,  this  particular  attitude  of  modern  mankind  is  the 
most  astonishing  to  me  !" 

"Your  own  attitude  is? " 

"  The  reluctant  acceptance  of  such  terrific  knowledge  as  is 
forced  upon  me,"  he  replied  with  a  dark  smile.  "I  do  not 
say  I  have  been  an  apt  or  a  willing  pupil, — I  have  had  to 
suffer  in  learning  what  I  know  !" 

"  Do  you  believe  in  hell!"  I  asked  him  suddenly — "and 
in  Satan,  the  Arch-Enemy  of  mankind?" 

He  was  silent  for  so  long  that  I  was  surprised,  the  more  so 
as  he  grew  pale  to  the  lips,  and  a  curious,  almost  deathlike 
rigidity  of /eature  gave  his  expression  something  of  the  ghastly 
and  terrible.     After  a  pause  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  me, — 

36* 


426  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

an  intense  burning  misery  was  reflected  in  them,  though  he 
smiled. 

*'  Most  assuredly  I  believe  in  hell  !  How  can  I  do  other- 
wise if  I  believe  in  heaven?  If  there  is  an  Up  there  must  be 
a  Down ;  if  there  is  Light,  there  must  also  be  Darkness. 
And,  .  .  .  concerning  the  Arch-Enemy  of  mankind, — if 
half  the  stories  reported  of  him  be  true,  he  must  be  the 
most  piteous  and  pitiable  figure  in  the  Universe !  What 
would  be  the  sorrows  of  a  thousand  million  worlds,  com- 
pared to  the  sorrows  of  Satan  ! ' ' 

"  Sorrows  !"  I  echoed.  "  He  is  supposed  to  rejoice  in  the 
working  of  evil !" 

''Neither  angel  nor  devil  can  do  that,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  To  rejoice  in  the  working  of  evil  is  a  temporary  mania 
which  affects  man  only.  For  actual  joy  to  come  out  of  evil, 
Chaos  must  come  again,  and  God  must  extinguish  Himself." 
He  stared  across  the  dark  sea, — the  sun  had  sunk,  and  one 
faint  star  twinkled  through  the  clouds.  *'  And  so  I  again  say 
— the  sorrows  of  Satan  !  Sorrows  immeasurable  as  eternity 
itself, — imagine  them  !  To  be  shut  out  of  Heaven  ! — to  hear, 
all  through  the  unending  aeons,  the  far-off  voices  of  angels 
whom  once  he  knew  and  loved  ! — to  be  a  wanderer  among 
deserts  of  darkness,  and  to  pine  for  the  light  celestial  that 
was  formerly  as  air  and  food  to  his  being, — and  to  know  that 
Man's  folly,  Man's  utter  selfishness,  Man's  cruelty,  keep  him 
thus  exiled,  an  outcast  from  pardon  and  peace  !  Man's 
nobleness  may  lift  the  Lost  Spirit  almost  within  reach  of  his 
lost  joys, — but  Man's  vileness  drags  him  down  again, — easy 
was  the  torture  of  Sisyphus  compared  with  the  torture  of 
Satan  !  No  wonder  that  he  loathes  Mankind  !  — small  blame 
to  him  if  he  seeks  to  destroy  the  puny  tribe  eternally, — little 
marvel  that  he  grudges  them  their  share  of  immortality  ! 
Think  of  it  as  a  legend  merely,"  — and  he  turned  upon  me 
with  a  movement  that  was  almost  fierce, — "  Christ  redeemed 
Man, — and  by  his  teaching,  showed  how  it  was  possible  for 
Man  to  redeem  the  Devil !" 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  427 

"I  do  not  understand  yon,"  I  said  feebly,  awed  by  the 
strange  pain  and  passion  of  his  tone. 

"  Do  you  not?  Yet  my  meaning  is  scarcely  obscure  !  If 
men  were  true  to  their  immortal  instincts  and  to  the  God  that 
made  them,. — if  they  were  generous,  honest,  fearless,  faithful, 
reverent,  unselfish,  ...  if  women  were  pure,  brave,  tender 
and  loving, — can  you  not  imagine  that,  in  the  strong  force 
and  fairness  of  such  a  world,  *  Lucifer,  son  of  the  Morning' 
would  be  moved  to  love  instead  of  hate?— that  the  closed 
doors  of  Paradise  would  be  unbarred, — and  that  he,  lifted 
towards  his  Creator  on  the  prayers  of  pure  lives,  would  wear 
again  his  Angel's  crown?  Can  you  not  rtalize  this,  even  by 
way  of  a  legendary  story  ?' ' 

''Why  yes,  as  a  legendary  story  the  idea  is  beautiful," — I 
admitted, — ''  and  to  me,  as  I  told  you  once  before,  quite  new. 
Still,  as  men  are  never  likely  to  be  honest,  or  women  pure, 
I'm  afraid  the  poor  Devil  stands  a  bad  chance  of  ever  getting 
redeemed  ! ' ' 

"I  fear  so  too  !"  and  he  eyed  me  with  a  curious  derision — 
"  I  very  much  fear  so  !  And  his  chances  being  so  slight, 
I  rather  respect  him  for  being  the  Arch-Enemy  of  such  a 
worthless  race!"  He  paused  a  moment,  then  added — "I 
wonder  how  we  have  managed  to  get  on  such  an  absurd 
subject  of  conversation  ?  It  is  dull  and  uninteresting,  as  all 
'  spiritual'  themes  invariably  are.  My  object  in  bringing  you 
out  on  this  voyage  is  not  to  indulge  in  psychological  argu- 
ment, but  to  make  you  forget  your  troubles  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  enjoy  the  present  while  it  lasts." 

There  was  a  vibration  of  compassionate  kindness  in  his 
voice  which  at  once  moved  me  to  an  acute  sense  of  self-pity, 
the  worst  enervator  of  moral  force  that  exists.  I  sighed 
heavily. 

''Truly  I  have  suffered,"  I  said — "more  than  most  men  !" 

"More  even  than  most  millionaires  deserve  to  suffer!" 
declared  Lucio,  with  that  inevitable  touch  of  sarcasm  which 
distinguished  some  of  his  friendliest  remarks.      "Money  is 


428  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

supposed  to  make  amends  to  a  man  for  everything, — and 
even  the  wealthy  wife  of  a  certain  Irish  *  patriot'  has  not 
found  it  incompatible  with  affection  to  hold  her  moneybags 
close  to  herself  while  her  husband  has  been  declared  a  bank- 
rupt. How  she  has  'idolized'  him,  let  others  say  !  Now, 
considering  _y^//r  cash-abundance,  it  must  be  owned  the  fates 
have  treated  you  somewhat  unkindly  !" 

The  smile  that  was  half-cruel  and  half-sweet  radiated  in  his 
eyes  as  he  spoke, — and  again  a  singular  revulsion  of  feeling 
against  him  moved  me  to  dislike  and  fear.  And  yet, — how 
fascinating  was  his  company  !  I  could  not  but  admit  that  the 
voyage  with  him  to  Alexandria  on  board  '  The  Flame'  was 
one  of  positive  enchantment  and  luxury  all  the  way.  There 
was  nothing  in  a  material  sense  left  to  wish  for, — all  that  could 
appeal  to  the  intelligence  or  the  imagination  had  been  thought 
of  on  board  this  wonderful  yacht  which  bped  like  a  fairy  ship 
over  the  sea.  Some  of  the  sailors  were  skilled  musicians,  and 
on  tranquil  nights,  or  at  sunset,  would  bring  stringed  instru- 
ments and  discourse  to  our  ears  the  most  dulcet  and  ravishing 
melodies.  Lucio  himself  too  would  often  sing, — his  luscious 
voice  resounding,  as  it  seemed,  over  all  the  visible  sea  and 
sky,  with  such  passion  as  might  have  drawn  an  angel  down 
to  listen.  Gradually  my  mind  became  impregnated  with 
these  snatches  of  mournful,  fierce,  or  weird  minor  tunes, — 
and  I  began  to  suffer  in  silence  from  an  inexplicable  depres- 
sion and  foreboding  sense  of  misery,  as  well  as  from  another 
terrible  feeling  to  which  I  could  scarcely  give  a  name, — a 
Aitd^dJixA  uncertainty  of  myself ,  ^^  of  one  lost  in  a  wilderness 
and  about  to  die.  I  endured  these  fits  of  mental  agony  alone, 
— and  in  such  dreary  burning  moments,  believed  I  was  going 
mad.  I  grew  more  and  more  sullen  and  taciturn,  and  when 
we  at  last  arrived  at  Alexandria  I  was  not  moved  to  any  par- 
ticular pleasure.  The  place  was  new  ro  me,  but  I  was  not 
conscious  of  novelty, — everything  seemed  flat,  dull,  and  totally 
uninteresting.  A  heavy  almost  lethargic  stupor  chained  my 
wits,  and  when  we  left  the  yacht  in  harbour  and  went  on  to 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  429 

Cairo,  I  was  not  sensible  of  any  personal  enjoyment  in  the 
journey,  or  interest  in  what  I  saw.  I  was  only  partially  roused 
when  we  took  possession  of  a  luxurious  dahabeah,  which,  with 
a  retinue  of  attendants,  had  been  specially  chartered  for  us, 
and  commenced  our  lotus-like  voyage  up  the  Nile.  The 
reed-edged,  sluggish  yellow  river  fascinated  me, — I  used  to 
spend  long  hours  reclining  at  full  length  in  a  deck-chair, 
gazing  at  the  flat  shores,  the  blown  sand-heaps,  the  broken 
columns  and  mutilated  temples  of  the  dead  kingdoms  of  the 
past.  One  evening,  thus  musing,  while  the  great  golden  moon 
climbed  languidly  up  into  the  sky  to  stare  at  the  wrecks  of 
earthly  ages  I  said — 

*'  If  one  could  only  see  these  ancient  cities  as  they  once  ex- 
isted, what  strange  revelations  might  be  made  !  Our  modern 
marvels  of  civilization  and  progress  might  seem  small  trifles 
after  all, — for  I  believe  in  our  days  we  are  only  re- discovering 
what  the  peoples  of  old  time  knew. ' ' 

Lucio  drew  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  looked  at  it  medi- 
tatively.    Then  he  glanced  up  at  me  with  a  half-smile — 

"Would  you  like  to  see  a  city  resuscitated?"  he  inquired. 
"  Here,  in  this  very  spot,  some  six  thousand  years  ago,  a  king 
reigned,  with  a  woman  not  his  queen,  but  his  favourite  (quite 
a  lawful  arrangement  in  those  days),  who  was  as  famous  for 
her  beauty  and  virtue  as  this  river  is  for  its  fructifying  tide. 
Here  civilization  had  progressed  enormously, — with  the  one 
exception  that  it  had  not  outgrown  faith.  Modern  France 
and  England  have  beaten  the  ancients  in  their  scorn  of  God 
and  creed,  their  contempt  for  divine  things,  their  unnamable 
lasciviousness  and  blasphemy.  This  city" — and  he  waved 
his  hand  towards  a  dreary  stretch  of  shore  where  a  cluster 
of  tall  reeds  waved  above  the  monster  fragment  of  a  fallen 
column — "  was  governed  by  the  strong  pure  faith  of  its  people 
more  than  anything, — and  the  ruler  of  social  things  in  it  was 
a  woman.  The  king's  favourite  was  something  like  Mavis 
Clare  in  that  she  possessed  genius, — she  had  also  the  qualities 
of  justice,  intelligence,  love,  truth  and  a  most  noble  unself- 


430  THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

ishness, — she  made  this  place  happy.  It  was  a  paradise  on 
earth  while  she  lived, — when  she  died,  its  glory  ended.  So 
much  can  a  woman  do  if  she  chooses, — so  much  does  she  not 
do,  in  her  usual  cow-like  way  of  living  I" 

*'  How  do  you  know  all  this  you  tell  me  of?"  I  asked 
him. 

'*By  study  of  past  records,"  he  replied.  I  read  what 
modern  men  declare  they  have  no  time  to  read.  You  are 
right  in  the  idea  that  all  '  new'  things  are  only  old  things 
re-invented  or  re-discovered, — if  you  had  gone  a  step  further 
and  said  that  some  of  men's  present  lives  are  only  the  continu- 
ation of  their  past,  you  would  not  have  been  wrong.  Now, 
if  you  like,  I  can,  by  my  science,  show  you  the  city  that  stood 
here  long  ago, — the  '  City  Beautiful'  as  its  name  is,  translated 
from  the  ancient  tongue." 

I  roused  myself  from  my  lounging  attitude  and  looked  at 
him  amazedly.     He  met  my  gaze  unmoved. 

''You  can  show  it  to  me  !"  I  exclaimed.  ''  How  can  you 
do  such  an  impossible  thing  ?' ' 

**  Permit  me  to  hypnotize  you,"  he  answered  smiling. 
'*My  system  of  hypnotism  is,  very  fortunately,  not  yet  dis- 
covered by  meddlesome  inquirers  into  occult  matters, — but  it 
never  fails  of  its  effect, — and  I  promise  you,  you  shall,  under 
my  influence,  see  not  only  the  place,  but  the  people." 

My  curiosity  was  strongly  excited,  and  I  became  more  eager 
to  try  the  suggested  experiment  than  I  cared  to  openly  show. 
I  laughed,  however,  with  affected  indifference. 

"I  am  perfectly  willing  !"  I  said.  *' All  the  same,  I  don't 
think  you  can  hypnotize  me, — I  have  much  too  strong  a  will 

of  my  own "  at  which  remark  I  saw  a  smile,  dark  and 

saturnine,  hover  on  his  lips — *'  But  you  can  make  the  at- 
tempt." 

He  rose  at  once,  and  signed  to  one  of  our  Egyptian 
servants. 

''Stop  the  dahabeah,  Azimah,"  he  said.  "We  will  rest 
here  for  the  night." 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  431 

Azimah,  a  superb-looking  Eastern  in  picturesque  white  gar- 
ments, put  his  hands  to  his  head  in  submission  and  retired  to 
give  the  order.  In  another  few  moments  the  dahabeah  had 
stopped.  A  great  silence  was  around  us, — the  moonlight  fell 
like  yellow  wine  on  the  deck,  — in  the  far  distance,  across  the 
stretches  of  dark  sand,  a  solitary  column  towered  so  clear-cut 
against  the  sky  that  it  was  almost  possible  to  discern  upon  it 
the  outline  of  a  monstrous  face.  Lucio  stood  still,  confront- 
ing me, — saying  nothing,  but  looking  me  steadily  through  and 
through,  with  those  wonderfully  mystic,  melancholy  eyes  that 
seemed  to  penetrate  and  burn  my  very  flesh.  I  was  attracted 
as  a  bird  might  be  by  the  basilisk  eyes  of  a  snake, — yet  I  tried 
to  smile  and  say  something  indifferent.  My  efforts  were  use- 
less,— personal  consciousness  was  slipping  from  me  fast, — the 
sky,  the  water  and  the  moon  whirled  round  each  other  in  a 
giddy  chase  for  precedence  ; — I  could  not  move,  for  my  limbs 
seemed  fastened  to  my  chair  with  weights  of  iron,  and  I  was 
for  a  few  minutes  absolutely  powerless.  Then  suddenly  my 
vision  cleared  (^as  I  thought) — my  senses  grew  vigorous  and 
alert,  ...  I  heard  the  sound  of  solemn  marching  music,  and 
there, — there  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  moon,  with  a  thou- 
sand lights  gleaming  from  towers  and  cupolas,  shone  the  '  City 
Beautiful'  ! 


XXXIX 


A  VISION  of  majestic  buildings,  vast,  stately  and  gigantic ! 
— of  streets  crowded  with  men  and  women  in  white  and 
coloured  garments,  adorned  with  jewels, — of  flowers  that  grew 
on  the  roofs  of  palaces  and  swung  from  terrace  to  terrace 
in  loops  and  garlands  of  fantastic  bloom, — of  trees,  broad- 
branched  and  fully  leafed, — of  mirble  embankments  over- 
looking the  river, — of  lotus-lilies  growing  thickly  below,  by 
the  wafer's  edge, — of  music,  that  echoed  in  silver  and  brazen 
twangings  from  the  shelter  of  shady  gardens  and  covered  bal- 


432 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


conieSj — every  beautiful  detail  rose  before  me  more  distinctly 
than  an  ivory  carving  mounted  on  an  ebony  shield.  Just 
opposite  where  I  stood,  or  seemed  to  stand,  on  the  deck  of  a 
vessel  in  the  busy  harbour,  a  wide  avenue  extended,  opening 
up  into  huge  squares  embellished  with  strange  figures  of 
granite  gods  and  animals, — I  saw  the  sparkling  spray  of  many 
fountains  in  the  moonlight,  and  heard  the  low  persistent  hum 
of  the  restless  human  multitudes  that  thronged  the  place  as 
thickly  as  bees  clustered  in  a  hive.  To  the  left  of  the  scene  I 
could  discern  a  huge  bronze  gate  guarded  by  sphinxes  ;  there 
was  a  garden  beyond  it,  and  from  that  depth  of  shade  a  girl's 
voice,  singing  a  strange  wild  melody,  came  floating  towards 
me  on  the  breeze.  Meanwhile  the  marching  music  I  had  first 
of  all  caught  the  echo  of,  sounded  nearer  and  nearer, — and 
presently  I  perceived  a  great  crowd  approaching  with  lighted 
torches  and  garlands  of  flowers.  Soon  1  saw  a  band  of  priests 
in  brilliant  robes  that  literally  blazed  with  sun-like  gems, — 
they  were  moving  towards  the  river,  and  with  them  came  young 
boys  and  little  children,  while  on  either  side,  maidens  white- 
veiled  and  rose-wreathed,  paced  demurely,  swinging  silver 
censors  to  and  fro.  After  the  priestly  procession  walked  a 
regal  figure  between  ranks  of  slaves  and  attendants, — I  knew 
it  for  the  King  of  this  '  City  Beautiful,'  and  was  almost  moved 
to  join  in  the  thundering  acclamations  which  greeted  his 
progress.  And  that  snowy  palanquin,  carried  by  lily-crowned 
girls,  that  followed  his  train, — who  occupied  it  ?  .  .  .  what 
gem  of  his  land  was  thus  tenderly  enshrined  ?  I  was  consumed 
by  an  extraordinary  longing  to  know  this, — I  watched  the 
white  burden  coming  nearer  to  my  point  of  vantage, — I  saw 
the  priests  arrange  themselves  in  a  semi  circle  on  the  river- 
embankment,  the  King  in  their  midst,  and  the  surging  shout- 
ing multitude  around, — then  came  the  brazen  clangour  of 
many  bells,  intermixed  with  the  rolling  of  drums  and  the 
shrilling  sound  of  reed  pipes  lightly  blown  upon, — and,  amid 
the  blaze  of  the  flaring  torches,  the  White  Palanquin  was  set 
down   upon    the   ground.     A  woman,  clad   in  some  silvery 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  433 

glistening  tissue,  stepped  forth  from  it  like  a  sylph  from  the 

foam  of  the  sea,  but she  was  veiled, — I  could  not  discern 

so  much  as  the  outline  of  her  features,  and  the  keen  disap- 
pointment of  this  was  a  positive  torture  to  me.  If  I  could 
but  see  her,  I  thought,  I  should  know  something  I  had  never 
hitherto  guessed  !  ''  Lift,  oh,  lift  the  shrouding  veil,  Spirit  of 
the  City  Beautiful !"  I  inwardly  prayed— "  For  I  feel  I  shall 
read  in  your  eyes  the  secret  of  happiness  !" 

But  the  veil  was  not  withdrawn,  .  .  .  the  music  made  bar- 
baric clamour  in  my  ears,  .  .  .  the  blaze  of  strong  light  and 
colour  blinded  me,  .  .  .  and  I  felt  myself  reeling  into  a  dark 
chaos,  where,  as  I  imagined,  I  chased  the  moon,  as  she  flew 
before  me  on  silver  wings, — then  ,  .  .  the  sound  of  a  rich 
baritone  trolling  out   a  light  song   from   a  familiar  modern 

opera  bouffe  confused   and   startled   me, and    in  another 

second  I  found  myself  staring  wildly  at  Lucio,  who,  lying 
easily  back  in  his  deck-chair,  was  carolling  joyously  to  the 
silent  night  and  the  blank  expan-e  of  sandy  shore,  in  front  of 
which  our  dahabeah  rested  motionless.  With  a  cry  I  flung 
myself  upon  him. 

**  Where  is  she?"  I  exclaimed.      *'  Who  is  she?" 

He  looked  at  me  without  replying,  and  smiling  quizzically, 
released  himself  from  my  sudden  grasp.  I  drew  back  shud- 
dering and  bewildered. 

"  I  saw  it  all !"  I  murmured — "  The  city — the  priests, — the 
people — the  King  ! all  but  Her  face  !  Why  was  that  hid- 
den from  me  ! " 

And  actual  tears  rose  to  my  eyes  involuntarily, — Lucio  sur- 
veyed me  with  evident  amusement. 

"  What  a  'find'  you  would  be  to  a  first-class  '  spiritual'  im- 
postor playing  his  tricks  in  cultured  and  easily-gulled  London 
society  !"  he  observed.  ''  You  seem  most  powerfully  impressed 
by  a  passing  vision  !" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  I  said  earnestly,  "  that  what  I 
saw  just  now  was  the  mere  thought  of  your  brain  conveyed  to 
mine  ?' ' 

T       cc  37 


434  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

"Precisely!"  he  responded.  'I  know  what  the  'City 
Beautiful'  was  like,  and  I  was  able  to  draw  it  for  you  on  the 
canvas  of  my  memory  and  present  it  as  a  complete  picture  to 
your  inward  sight.  For  you  have  an  inward  sight, — though, 
like  most  people,  you  live  unconscious  of  that  neglected 
faculty. ' ' 

*'  But — who  was  She?"  I  repeated  obstinately. 

*'  'She'  was,  I  presume,  the  King's  favourite.  If  she  kept 
her  face  hidden  from  you  as  you  complain,  I  am  sorry  ! — but 
I  assure  you  it  was  not  my  fault !  Get  to  bed,  Geoffrey, — you 
look  dazed.  You  take  visions  badly, — yet  they  are  better  than 
realities,  believe  me  !" 

Somehow  I  could  not  answer  him.  I  left  him  abruptly  and 
went  below  to  try  and  sleep,  but  my  thoughts  were  all  cruelly 
confused,  and  I  began  to  be  more  than  ever  overwhelmed  with 
a  sense  of  deepening  terror, — a  feeling  that  I  was  being  com- 
manded, controlled,  and,  as  it  were,  driven  along  by  a  force 
that  had  in  it  something  unearthly.  It  was  a  most  distressing 
sensation, — it  made  me  shrink,  at  times,  from  the  look  of 
Lucio's  eyes, — now  and  then  indeed  I  almost  cowered  before 
him,  so  increasingly  great  was  the  indefinable  dread  I  had  of 
his  presence.  It  was  not  so  much  the  strange  vision  of  the 
'  City  Beautiful'  that  had  inspired  this  in  me, — for  after  all, 
that  was  only  a  trick  of  hypnotism,  as  he  had  said,  and  as  I 
was  content  to  argue  it  with  myself, — but  it  was  his  whole 
manner  that  suddenly  began  to  impress  me  as  it  had  never  im- 
pressed me  before.  If  any  change  was  slowly  taking  place  in 
my  sentiments  towards  him,  so  surely  it  seemed  was  he  changing 
equally  towards  me.  His  imperious  ways  were  more  impe- 
rial,— his  sarcasm  more  sarcastic, — his  contempt  for  mankind 
more  openly  displayed  and  more  frequently  pronounced.  Yet 
I  admired  him  as  much  as  ever, — I  delighted  in  his  conversa- 
tion, whether  it  were  witty,  philosophical,  or  cynical, — I  could 
not  imagine  myself  without  his  company.  Nevertheless  the 
gloom  on  my  mind  deepened, — our  Nile  trip  became  infinitely 
wearisome    to   me,   so  much  so,    that  almost  before  we  had 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  435 

got  half-way  on  our  journey  up  the  river,  I  longed  to  turn 
back  again  and  wished  the  voyage  at  an  end.  An  incident 
that  occurred  at  Luxor  was  more  than  sufficient  to  strengthen 
this  desire.  We  had  stayed  there  for  several  days  exploring 
the  district  and  visiting  the  ruins  of  Thebes  and  Karnac,  where 
they  were  busy  excavating  tombs.  One  afternoon  they  brought 
to  light  a  red  granite  sarcophagus  intact, — in  it  was  a  richly 
painted  coffin  which  was  opened  in  our  presence,  and  was  found 
to  contain  the  elaborately  adorned  mummy  of  a  woman.  Lucio 
proved  himself  an  apt  reader  of  hieroglyphics,  and  he  trans- 
lated in  brief  and  with  glib  accuracy  the  history  of  the  corpse 
as  it  was  pictured  inside  the  sepulchral  shell. 

"A  dancer  at  the  court  of  Queen  Amenartes,"  he  an- 
nounced for  the  benefit  of  several  interested  spectators  who  with 
myself  stood  round  the  sarcophagus, — ''who,  because  of  her 
many  sins,  and  secret  guilt,  which  made  her  life  unbearable, 
and  her  days  full  of  corruption,  died  of  poison  administered 
by  her  own  hand,  according  to  the  King's  command,  and  in 
presence  of  the  executioners  of  law.  Such  is  the  lady's  story, — 
condensed ; — there  are  a  good  many  other  details  of  course. 
She  appears  to  have  been  only  in  her  twentieth  year.  Well !" 
and  he  smiled  as  he  looked  round  upon  his  little  audience, — 
*'  we  may  congratulate  ourselves  on  having  progressed  since 
the  days  of  these  over-strict  ancient  Egyptians  !  The  sins  of 
dancers  are  not,  with  us,  taken  aiL  grand  serieux  !  Shall  we 
see  what  she  is  like  ?" 

No  objection  was  raised  by  the  authorities  concerned  in 
the  discoveries, — and  I,  who  had  never  witnessed  the  unroll- 
ing of  a  mummy  before,  watched  the  process  with  great 
interest  and  curiosity.  As  one  by  one  of  the  scented  wrap- 
pings were  removed,  a  long  tress  of  nut-brown  hair  became 
visible, — then,  those  who  were  engaged  in  the  task,  used  more 
extreme  and  delicate  precaution,  Lucio  himself  assisting  them 
to  uncover  the  face.  As  this  was  done,  a  kind  of  sick  horror 
stole  over  me, — brown  and  stiff  as  parchment  though  the 
features  were,  their  contour  was  recognisable, — and  when  the 


436  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

whole  countenance  was  exposed  to  view  I  could  almost  have 
shrieked  aloud  the  name  of  ^  Sibyl  P  For  it  was  like  her  ! — 
dreadfully  like! — and  as  the  faint  half-aromatic  half-putrid 
odours  of  the  unrolled  cerements  crept  towards  me  on  the  air, 
I  reeled  back  giddily  and  covered  my  eyes.  Irresistibly  I  was 
reminded  of  the  subtle  French  perfume  exhaled  from  Sibyl's 
garments  when  I  found  her  dead, — that,  and  this  sickly 
effluvia  were  not  unlike  !  A  man  standing  near  me  saw  me 
swerve  as  though  about  to  fall,  and  caught  me  on  his  arm. 

**  The  sun  is  too  strong  for  you  I  fear?"  he  said  kindly. 
**  This  climate  does  not  suit  everybody." 

I  forced  a  smile  and  murmured  something  about  a  passing 
touch  of  vertigo, — then,  recovering  myself  I  gazed  fearfully 
at  Lucio,  who  was  studying  the  mummy  attentively  with  a 
curious  smile.  Presently  stooping  over  the  coffin  he  took 
out  of  it  a  piece  of  finely  wrought  gold  in  the  shape  of  a 
medallion. 

"This,  I  imagine  must  be  the  fair  dancer's  portrait,"  he 
said,  holding  it  up  to  the  view  of  all  the  eager  and  exclaiming 
spectators.  "  Quite  a  treasure- trove  !  An  admirable  piece  of 
ancient  workmanship,  besides  being  the  picture  of  a  very  lovely 
woman.     Do  you  not  think  so,  Geoffrey?" 

He  handed  me  the  medallion, — and  I  examined  it  with 
deadly  and  fascinated  interest, — the  face  was  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful,— but  assuredly  it  was  the  face  of  Sibyl  ! 

I  never  remember  how  I  lived  through  the  rest  of  that  day. 
At  night,  as  soon  as  I  had  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
Rimanez  alone,  I  asked  him — 

*'  Did  you  see, — did  you  not  recognise?  ..." 

'*  That  the  dead  Egyptian  dancer  resembled  your  late  wife  ?" 
he  quietly  continued.  "  Yes, — I  noticed  it  at  once.  But  that 
should  not  affect  you.  History  repeats  itself, — why  should 
not  lovely  women  repeat  themselves?  Beauty  always  has  its 
double  somewhere,  either  in  the  past  or  future." 

I  said  no  more, — but  next  morning  I  was  very  ill, — so  ill 
that  I  could  not  rise  from  my  bed,  and  passed  the  hours  in 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  437 

restless  moaning  and  irritable  pain  that  was  not  so  much 
physical  as  mental.  There  was  a  physician  resident  at  the 
hotel  at  Luxor,  and  Lucio,  always  showing  himself  particularly 
considerate  for  my  personal  comfort,  sent  for  him  at  once. 
He  felt  my  pulse,  shook  his  head,  and  after  much  dubious 
pondering,  advised  my  leaving  Egypt  immediately.  I  heard 
his  mandate  given  with  a  joy  I  could  scarcely  conceal.  The 
yearning  I  had  to  get  quickly  away  from  this  '  land  of  the  old 
gods'  was  intense  and  feverish, — I  loathed  the  vast  and  awful 
desert  silences,  where  the  Sphinx  frowns  contempt  on  the 
puny  littleness  of  mankind, — where  the  opened  tombs  and 
coffins  expose  once  more  to  the  light  of  day  faces  that  are 
the  very  semblances  of  those  we  ourselves  have  known  and 
loved  in  our  time, — and  where  painted  history  tells  us  of  just 
such  things  as  our  modern  newspapers  chronicle,  albeit  in 
different  form.  Rimanez  was  ready  and  willing  to  carry  out 
the  doctor's  orders, — and  arranged  our  return  to  Cairo,  and 
from  thence  to  Alexandria,  wath  such  expedition  as  left  me 
nothing  to  desire,  and  filled  me  with  gratitude  for  his  apparent 
sympathy.  In  as  short  a  time  as  abundance  of  cash  could 
make  possible,  we  had  rejoined  'The  Flame,'  and  were  en 
route ^  as  I  thought,  for  France  or  England.  We  had  not  ab- 
solutely settled  our  destination,  having  some  idea  of  coasting 
along  the  Riviera, — but  my  old  confidence  in  Rimanez  being 
now  almost  restored,  I  left  this  to  him  for  decision,  sufficiently 
satisfied  in  myself  that  I  had  not  been  destined  to  leave  my 
bones  in  terror-haunted  Egypt.  And  it  was  not  till  I  had 
been  about  a  week  or  ten  days  on  board,  and  had  made  good 
progress  in  the  recovery  of  my  health,  that  the  beginning  of 
the  end  of  this  never-to-be-forgotten  voyage  was  foreshadowed 
to  me  in  such  terrific  fashion  as  nearly  plunged  me  into  the 
darkness  of  death, — or  rather  let  me  now  say  (having  learned 
my  bitter  lesson  thoroughly),  into  the  fell  brilliancy  of  that 
Life  beyond  the  tomb  which  we  refuse  to  recognise  or  realize 
till  we  are  whirled  into  its  glorious  or  awful  vortex  ! 

One  evening,  after  a  bright  day  of  swift  and  enjoyable  sail- 


438  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

ing  over  a  smooth  and  sunlit  sea,  I  retired  to  rest  in  my  cabin, 
feeling  almost  happy.  My  mind  was  perfectly  tranquil, — my 
trust  in  my  friend  Lucio  was  again  re-established, — and  I  may 
add,  so  was  my  old  arrogant  and  confident  trust  in  myself. 
My  access  to  fortune  had  not,  so  far,  brought  me  either  much 
joy  or  distinction, — but  it  was  not  too  late  for  me  yet  to  pluck 
the  golden  apples  of  Hesperides.  The  various  troubles  I  had 
endured,  though  of  such  recent  occurrence,  began  to  assume 
a  blurred  indistinctness  in  my  mind,  as  of  things  long  past 
and  done  with, — I  considered  the  strength  of  my  financial 
position  again  with  satisfaction,  to  the  extent  of  contemplating 
a  second  marriage — and  that  marriage  with — Mavis  Clare  ! 
No  other  woman  should  be  my  wife,  I  mentally  swore, — she, 
and  she  only  should  be  mine  !  I  foresaw  no  difficulties  in  the 
way, — and  full  of  pleasant  dreams  and  self-delusions  I  settled 
myself  in  my  berth,  and  dropped  easily  off  to  sleep.  About 
midnight  I  awoke  vaguely  terrified,  to  see  the  cabin  full  of  a 
strong  red  light  and  fierce  glare.  My  first  dazed  impression 
was  that  the  }acht  was  on  fire, — the  next  instant  I  became 
paralyzed  and  dumb  with  horror.  Sibyl  stood  before  me  ! 
.  .  .  Sibyl,  a  wild,  strange,  tortured  writhing  figure  half  nude, 
waving  beckoning  arms,  and  making  desperate  gestures, — her 
face  was  as  I  had  seen  it  last  in  death,  livid  and  hideous,  .  .  . 
her  eyes  blazed  mingled  menace,  despair,  and  warning  upon 
me  !  Round  her  a  living  wreath  of  flame  coiled  upwards  like 
a  twisted  snake,  .  .  .  her  lips  moved  as  though  she  strove 
to  speak,  but  no  sound  came  from  them, — and  while  I  yet 
looked  at  her,  she  vanished  !  I  must  have  lost  consciousness 
then, — for  when  I  awoke,  it  was  broad  day.  But  this  ghastly 
visitation  was  only  the  first  of  many  such, — and  at  last,  every 
night  I  saw  her  thus,  sheeted  in  flame,  till  I  grew  well-nigh 
mad  with  fear  and  misery.  My  torment  was  indescribable, — 
yet  I  said  nothing  to  Lucio,  who  watched  me,  as  I  imagined, 
narrowly, — I  took  sleeping-draughts  in  the  hope  to  procure 
unbroken  rest,  but  in  vain, — always  I  woke  at  one  particular 
moment,  and  always  I  had  to  face  this  fiery  phantom  of  my 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  439 

dead  wife,  with  despair  in  her  eyes  and  an  unuttered  warning 
on  her  lips.  This  was  not  all.  One  day  in  the  full  sunlight 
of  a  quiet  afternoon,  I  entered  the  saloon  of  the  yacht  alone, 
and  started  back  amazed  to  see  my  old  friend  John  Carrington 
seated  at  the  table,  pen  in  hand,  casting  up  accounts.  He 
bent  over  his  papers  closely, — his  face  was  furrowed  and  very 
pale, — but  so  life-like  was  he,  so  seemingly  substantial,  that  I 
called  him  by  name,  whereat  he  looked  up, — smiled  drearily, 
and  was  gone  !  Trembling  in  every  limb  I  realized  that  here 
was  another  spectral  terror  added  to  the  burden  of  my  days ; 
and  sitting  down,  I  tried  to  rally  my  scattered  forces  and 
reason  out  what  w^as  best  to  be  done.  There  was  no  doubt 
I  was  very  ill ; — the.-.e  phantoms  were  the  warning  of  brain- 
disease.  I  must  endeavour,  I  thought,  to  keep  myself  well 
under  control  till  I  got  to  England, — there  I  determined  to 
consult  the  best  physicians,  and  put  myself  under  their  care 
till  I  was  thoroughly  restored. 

"  Meanwhile" — I  muttered  to  myself—''  I  will  say  nothing, 
.  .  .  not  even  to  Lucio.  He  would  only  smile,  .  .  .  and  I 
should  hate  him  !   .   .   . " 

I  broke  off,  wondering  at  this.  For  was  it  possible  I  should 
ever  hate  him  ?     Surely  not ! 

That  night,  by  way  of  a  change,  I  slept  in  a  hammock  on 
deck,  hoping  to  dispel  midnight  illusions  by  resting  in  the 
open  air.  But  my  sufferings  were  only  intensified.  I  woke  as 
usual,  ...  to  see,  not  only  Sibyl,  but  also,  to  my  deadly  fear, 
the  Three  dark  Phantoms  that  had  appeared  to  me  in  my 
room  in  London  on  the  evening  of  Viscount  Lynton's  suicide. 
There  they  were,— the  same,  the  very  same, — only  this  time  all 
their  livid  faces  were  lifted  and  turned  towards  me,  and  though 
their  lips  never  moved,  the  word  *  Misery  !'  seemed  uttered,  for 
I  heard  it  tolling  like  a  funeral  bell  on  the  air  and  across  the 
sea!  .  .  .  And  Sibyl,  with  her  face  of  death  in  the  coils  of  a 
silent  flame,  .  .  .  Sibyl, — smiled  at  me  ! a  smile  of  tor- 
ture and  remorse  !  .  .  .  God  ! — I  could  endure  it  no  longer  ! 
Leaping  from  my  hammock,  I  ran  towards  the  vessel's  edge, 


440  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

.  .  .  one  plunge  into  the  cool  waves,  ...  ha  ! — there  stood 
Amiel,  with  his  impenetrable  dark  face  and  ferret  eyes. 

"  Can  1  assist  you  sir?"  he  inquired  deferentially. 

I  stared  at  him, — then  burst  into  a  laugh. 

''Assist  me?  Why  no! — you  can  do  nothing.  I  want 
rest,   .   .   .  and  I  cannot  sleep  here,   .   .   .   the  air  is  too  close 

and  sulphureous, the  very  stars  are  burning  hot  !   .   .   ." 

I  paused, — he  regarded  me  with  his  usual  gravely  derisive 
expression.      "I  am  going  down  to  my  cabin,"  I  continued, 

trying  to  speak  more  calmly "  I  shall  be  a/o/ie  there  .   .   . 

perhaps!"  Again  I  laughed  wildly  and  involuntarily,  and 
staggered  away  from  him  down  the  deck-stairs,  afraid  to  look 
back  lest  I  should  see  those  Three  dread  Figures  of  fate  fol- 
lowing me. 

Once  safe  in  my  cabin  I  shut  to  the  door  violently,  and  in 
feverish  haste  seized  my  case  of  pistols.  I  took  out  one  and 
loaded  it.  My  heart  was  beating  furiously, — I  kept  my  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground,  lest  they  should  encounter  the  dead  eyes 
of  Sibyl. 

"  One  click  of  the  trigger,"  I  whispered,  ''  and  all  is  over  ! 
I  shall  be  at  peace, — senseless, — sightless  and  painless.  Hor- 
rors can  no  longer  haunt  me,   ...   I  shall  sleep  !" 

I  raised  the  weapon  steadily  to  my  right  temple,  .  .  .  when 
suddenly  my  cabin-door  opened,  and  Lucio  looked  in. 

''Pardon  me!"  he  said  as  he  observed  my  attitude.  "I 
had  no  idea  you  were  busy  !  I  will  go  away.  I  would  not 
disturb  you  for  the  world  !" 

His  smile  had  something  fiendish  in  its  fine  mockery ; — 
moved  with  a  quick  revulsion  of  feeling  I  turned  the  pistol 
downwards  and  held  its  muzzle  firmly  against  the  table  near 
me. 

"  Ybii  say  that !"  I  exclaimed  in  acute  anguish, — "jw/  say 
it — seeing  me  thus  !     I  thought  you  were  my  friend  !" 

He  looked  full  at  me,  ...  his  eyes  grew  large  and  lumi- 
nous with  a  splendour  of  scorn,  passion  and  sorrow  inter- 
mingled. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  441 

''Did  you?"  and  again  the  terrific  smile  lit  up  his  pale 
features, — "  you  were  mistaken  !     /  am  your  E?tef?iy  /' ' 

A  dreadful  silence  followed.  Something  lurid  and  un- 
earthly in  his  expression  appalled  me,  ...  I  trembled  and 
grew  cold  with  fear.     Mechanically  I  replaced  the  pistol  in  its 

case, then  I  gazed  up  at  him  with  a  vacant  wonder  and 

wild  piteousness,  seeing  that  his  dark  and  frowning  figure 
seemed  to  increase  in  stature,  towering  above  me  like  the 
gigantic  Shadow  of  a  storm-cloud  !  My  blood  froze  with  an 
unnamable  sickening  terror,  .  .  .  then,  thick  darkness  veiled 
my  sight,  and  I  dropped  down  senseless  ! 


XL 

Thunder  and  wild  tumult, — the  glare  of  lightning, — the 
shattering  roar  of  great  waves  leaping  mountains  high  and 
hissing  asunder  in  mid-air, — to  this  fierce  riot  of  savage  ele- 
ments let  loose  in  a  whirling  boisterous  dance  of  death,  I  woke 
at  last  with  a  convulsive  shock.  Staggering  to  my  feet  I  stood 
in  the  black  obscurity  of  my  cabin,  trying  to  rally  my  scat- 
tered forces, — the  electric  lamps  were  extinguished,  and  the 
lightning  alone  illumined  the  sepulchral  darkness.  Frantic 
shoutings  echoed  above  me  on  deck, — fiend-like  yells  that 
sounded  now  like  triumph,  now  like  despair,  and  again  like 
menace, — the  yacht  leaped  to  and  fro  like  a  hunted  stag  amid 
the  furious  billows,  and  every  frightful  crash  of  thunder  threat- 
ened, as  it  seemed,  to  split  her  in  twain.  The  wind  howled 
like  a  devil  in  torment, — it  screamed  and  moaned  and  sobbed 
as  though  endowed  with  a  sentient  body  that  suffered  acutest 
agony, — anon  it  rushed  downwards  with  an  angry  swoop  as  of 
wide-flapping  wings,  and  at  each  raging  gust  I  thought  the  ves- 
sel must  surely  founder.  Forgetting  everything  but  immediate 
personal  danger,  I  tried  to  open  my  door.  It  was  locked  out- 
side 1 — I  was  a  prisoner  !     My  indignation  at  this  discovery 


442  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

exceeded  every  other  feeling,  and  beating  with  both  hands  on 
the  wooden  panels,  I  called,  I  shouted,  I  threatened,  I  swore, 
— all  in  vain  !  Thrown  down  twice  by  the  topsy-turvy  lurch- 
ing of  the  yacht,  I  still  kept  up  a  desperate  hammering  and 
calling,  striving  to  raise  my  voice  above  the  distracting  pan- 
demonium of  noise  that  seemed  to  possess  the  ship  from  end 
to  end,  but  all  to  no  purpose, — and  finally,  hoarse  and  ex- 
hausted, I  stopped  and  leaned  against  the  unyielding  door  to 
recover  breath  and  strength.  The  storm  appeared  to  be  in- 
creasing in  force  and  clamour, — the  lightning  was  well-nigh 
incessant,  and  the  clattering  thunder  followed  each  flash  so 
instantaneously  as  to  leave  no  doubt  but  that  it  was  immedi- 
ately above  us.  I  listened, — and  presently  heard  a  frenzied 
cry — 

''Breakers  ahead!"  This  was  followed  by  peals  of  dis- 
cordant laughter.  Terrified,  I  strained  my  ears  for  every 
sound, — and  all  at  once  someone  spoke  to  me  quite  closely, 
as  though  the  very  darkness  around  me  had  found  a  tongue. 

"Breakers  ahead!  Throughout  the  world,  storm  and 
danger  and  doom  !  Doom  and  Death  ! — but  afterwards — 
Life!" 

A  certain  intonation  in  these  words  filled  me  with  such 
frantic  horror  that  I  fell  on  my  knees  in  abject  misery  and 
almost  prayed  to  the  God  I  had  through  all  my  life  disbelieved 
in  and  denied.  But  I  was  too  mad  with  fear  to  find  words ; — 
the  dense  blackness, — the  horrid  uproar  of  the  wind  and  sea, 
— the  infuriated  and  confused  shouting, — all  this  was  to  my 
mind  as  though  hell  itself  had  broken  loose,  and  I  could  only 
kneel  dumbly  and  tremble.  Suddenly  a  swirling  sound  as  of 
an  approaching  monstrous  whirlwind  made  itself  heard  above 
all  the  rest  of  the  din, — a  sound  that  gradually  resolved  itself 
into  a  howling  chorus  of  thousands  of  voices  sweeping  along 
on  the  gusty  blast, fierce  cries  were  mingled  with  the  jar- 
ring thunder,  and  I  leapt  erect  as  I  caught  the  words  of  the 
clangorous  shout — 

"  Ave  Sathanas  !  Ave  !" 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  443 

Rigidly  upright,  with  limbs  stiffening  for  sheer  terror,  I 
stood  listening, — the  waves  seemed  to  roar  "  Ave  Sathanas  !" 
— the  wind  shrieked  it  to  the  thunder, — the  lightning  wrote  it 
in  a  snaky  line  of  fire  on  the  darkness,  "Ave  Sathanas!" 
My  brain  swam  round  and  grew  full  to  bursting, — I  was 
going  mad, — raving  mad  surely ! — or  why  should  I  thus 
distinctly  hear  such  unmeaning  sounds  as  these?  With  a 
sudden  access  of  superhuman  force  I  threw  the  whole  weight 
of  my  body  against  the  door  of  my  cabin  in  a  delirious  effort 
to  break  it  open, — it  yielded  slightly, — and  I  prepared  myself 
for  another  rush  and  similar  attempt, — when  all  at  once  it  was 
flung  widely  back,  admitting  a  stream  of  pale  light,  and  Lucio, 
wrapped  in  heavy  shrouding  garments,  confronted  me. 

''Follow  me,  Geoffrey  Tempest,"  he  said  in  low  clear 
tones.      "  Your  time  has  come  !" 

As  he  spoke,  all  self-possession  deserted  me, — the  terrors  of 
the  storm,  and  now  the  terror  of  his  presence,  overwhelmed 
my  strength,  and  I  stretched  out  my  hands  to  him  appealingly, 
unknowing  what  I  did  or  said. 

''  For  God's  sake  .   .   .  !"  I  began  wildly. 

He  silenced  me  by  an  imperious  gesture. 

"Spare  me  your  prayers!  For  God's  sake,  for  your  own 
sake,  and  for  mine  !     Follow  !" 

He  moved  before  me  like  a  black  phantom  in  the  pale 
strange  light  surrounding  him, — and  I,  dazzled,  dazed  and 
terror-stricken,  trod  in  his  steps  closely,  moved,  as  it  seemed, 
by  some  volition  not  my  own,  till  I  found  myself  alone  with 
him  in  the  saloon  of  the  yacht,  with  the  waves  hissing  up 
against  the  windows  like  live  snakes  ready  to  sting.  Trem- 
bling and  scarcely  able  to  stand,  I  sank  on  a  chair, — he 
turned  round  and  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  meditatively. 
Then  he  threw  open  one  of  the  windows, — a  huge  wave 
dashed  in  and  scattered  its  bitter  salt  spray  upon  me  where  I 
sat, — but  I  heeded  nothing, — my  agonized  looks  were  fixed 
on  Him, — the  Being  I  had  so  long  made  the  companion  of  my 
days.     Raising  his  hand  with  a  gesture  of  authority  he  said — 


444  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

*'  Back,  ye  devils  of  the  sea  and  wind  ! — ye  which  are  not 
God's  elements,  but  My  servants,  the  unrepenting  souls  of 
men  !  Lost  in  the  waves,  or  whirled  in  the  hurricane,  which- 
ever ye  have  made  your  destiny,  get  hence  and  cease  your 
clamour  !     This  hour  is  Mine  !" 

Panic-stricken  I  heard, — aghast  I  saw  the  great  billows  that 
had  shouldered  up  in  myriads  against  the  vessel,  sink  sud- 
denly,— the  yelling  wind  dropped,  silenced, — the  yacht  glided 
along  with  a  smooth  even  motion  as  though  on  a  tranquil 
inland  lake, — and  almost  before  I  could  realize  it,  the  light 
of  the  full  moon  beamed  forth  brilliantly  and  fell  in  a  broad 
stream  across  the  floor  of  the  saloon.  But  in  the  very  cessa- 
tion of  the  storm  the  words  ''Ave  Sathanas  !"  trembled  as 
it  were  upwards  to  my  ears  from  the  underworld  of  the  sea, 
and  died  away  in  distance  like  a  parting  echo  of  thunder. 
Then  Lucio  faced  me, — with  what  a  countenance  of  sublime 
and  awful  beauty  ! 

"Do  you  know  Me  now,  man  whom  my  millions  of  dross 
have  made  wretched? — or  do  you  need  me  to  tell  you  WHO 
lam?" 

My  lips  moved, — but  I  could  not  speak  ;  the  dim  and 
dreadful  thought  that  was  dawning  on  my  mind  seemed  as 
yet  too  frenzied,  too  outside  the  boundaries  of  material  sense 
for  mortal  utterance. 

"  Be  dumb, — be  motionless  ! — but  hear  and  feel !"  he  con- 
tinued. "  By  the  supreme  power  of  God, — for  there  is  no 
other  Power  in  any  world  or  any  heaven, — I  control  and  com- 
mand you  at  this  moment,  your  own  will  being  set  aside  for 
once  as  naught.  I  choose  you  as  one  out  of  millions  to  learn 
in  this  life  the  lesson  that  all  must  learn  hereafter ; — let  every 
faculty  of  your  intelligence  be  ready  to  receive  that  which  I 
shall  impart, — and  teach  it  to  your  fellow-men  if  you  have  a 
conscience  as  you  have  a  Soul  !" 

Again  I  strove  to  speak, — he  seemed  so  human, — so  much 
my  friend  still,  though  he  had  declared  himself  my  Enemy, 
and  yet  .  .  .  what  was  that  lambent  radiance  encircling 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  445 

his  brows  ? — that  burning  glory  steadily  deepening  and  flashing 
from  his  eyes  ? 

**You  are  one  of  the  world's  'fortunate'  men,"  he  went 
on,  surveying  me  straightly  and  pitilessly.  ''So  at  least  this 
world  judges  you,  because  you  can  buy  its  good-will.  But  the 
Powers  that  govern  all  worlds  do  not  judge  you  by  such  a 
standard, — you  cannot  buy  their  good-will,  not  though  all  the 
Churches  should  offer  to  sell  it  you.  They  regard  you  as  you 
a7'e,  stripped  soul-naked, — not  as  you  sceju.  They  behold  in 
you  a  shameless  egoist,  persistently  engaged  in  defacing  their 
divine  Image  of  Immortality, — and  for  that  sin  there  is  no 
excuse  and  no  escape  but  Punishment.  Whosoever  prefers 
Self  to  God,  and  in  the  arrogance  of  that  Self,  presumes  to 
doubt  and  deny  God,  invites  another  power  to  compass  his 
destinies, — the  power  of  Evil,  made  evil  and  kept  evil  by  the 
disobedience  and  wickedness  of  Man  alone, — that  power  whom 
mortals  call  Satan,  Prince  of  Darkness, — but  whom  once  the 
angels  knew  as  Lucifer,  Prince  of  Light!"  .  .  .  He  broke 
off, — paused, — and  his  flaming  regard  fell  full  upon  me.  "  Do 
you  know  Me,  .   .   .  now?" 

I  sat  a  rigid  figure  of  fear,  dumbly  staring,  .  .  .  was  this 
man,  for  he  seemed  man,  mad,  that  he  should  thus  hint  at  a 
thing  too  wild  and  terrible  for  speech  ? 

"  If  you  do  not  know  Me, — if  you  do  not  feel  in  your  con- 
victed soul  that  you  are  aware  of  Me, — it  is  because  you  -will 
not  know  !  Thus  do  I  come  upon  men,  when  they  rejoice  in 
their  wilful  self-blindness  and  vanity  ! — thus  do  I  become  their 
constant  companion,  humouring  them  in  such  vices  as  they 
best  love  ! — thus  do  I  take  on  the  shape  that  pleases  them, 
and  fit  myself  to  their  humours  !  They  make  me  what  I  am  ; 
— they  mould  my  very  form  to  the  fashion  of  their  flitting 
time.  Through  all  their  changing  and  repeating  eras,  they 
have  found  strange  names  and  titles  for  me, — and  their 
creeds  and  churches  have  made  a  monster  of  me, — as  though 
imagination  could  compass  any  worse  monster  than  the  Devil 
in  Man!" 

38 


446  THE   SORROWS   OF  SATAN 

Frozen  and  mute  I  heard,  .  .  .  the  dead  silence,  and  his 
resonant  voice  vibrating  through  it,  seemed  more  terrific  than 
the  wildest  storm. 

**  You, — God's  work, — endowed  as  every  conscious  atom  of 
His  creation  is  endowed, — with  the  infinite  germ  of  immor- 
tality ; — you,  absorbed  in  the  gathering  together  of  such  perish- 
able trash  as  you  conceive  good  for  yourself  on  this  planet, — 
vou  dare,  in  the  puny  reach  of  your  mortal  intelligence  to 
dispute  and  question  the  everlasting  things  invisible  !  You, 
by  the  Creator's  will,  are  permitted  to  see  the  Natural  Uni- 
verse,— but  in  mercy  to  you,  the  veil  is  drawn  across  the 
Super-natural !  For  such  things  as  exist  there  would  break 
your  puny  earth-brain  as  a  frail  shell  is  broken  by  a  passing 
wheel, — and  because  you  cannot  see,  you  doubt  !  You  doubt 
not  only  the  surpassing  Love  and  Wisdom  that  keeps  you  in 
ignorance  till  you  shall  be  strong  enough  to  bear  full  knowl- 
edge, but  you  doubt  the  very  fact  of  such  another  universe 
itself!  Arrogant  fool! — your  hours  are  counted  by  Super- 
natural time, — your  days  are  compassed  by  Super-natural  law, 
— your  every  thought,  word,  deed  and  look  must  go  to  make 
up  the  essence  and  shape  of  your  being  in  Super-natural  life 
hereafter, — and  what  you  have  been  in  your  Soul  here,  must 
and  shall  be  the  aspect  of  your  Soul  there  !  That  law  knows 
no  changing  !" 

The  light  about  his  face  deepened, — he  went  on  in  clear 
accents  that  vibrated  with  the  strangest  music. 

"■  Men  make  their  own  choice  and  form  their  own  futures," 
he  said.  ''  And  never  let  them  dare  to  say  they  are  not  free 
to  choose  !  From  the  uttermost  reaches  of  high  Heaven  the 
Spirit  of  God  descended  to  them  as  Man, — from  the  utter- 
most depths  of  lowest  Hell,  I,  the  Spirit  of  Rebellion,  come, 
— equally  as  Man  !  But  the  God-in-Man  was  rejected  and 
slain, — I,  the  Devil-in-Man  live  on,  forever  accepted  and 
adored  !  Man's  choice  this  is — not  God's  or  mine  !  Were  this 
self-seeking  human  race  once  to  reject  me  utterly,  I  should 
exist  no  more  as  I  am, — nor  would  they  exist  who  are  with  me. 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  447 

Listen,  while  I  trace  your  career  ! — it  is  a  copy  of  the  lives  of 
many  men  ; — and  judge  how  little  the  powers  of  Heaven  can 
have  to  do  with  you  ! — how  much  the  powers  of  Hell  !" 

I  shuddered  involuntarily ; — dimly  I  began  to  realize  the 
awful  nature  of  this  unearthly  interview. 

''You,  Geoffrey  Tempest,  are  a  man  in  whom  a  Thought 
of  God  was  once  implanted, — that  subtle  fire  or  note  of 
music  out  of  heaven,  called  Genius.  So  great  a  gift  is  rarely 
bestowed  on  any  mortal, — and  woe  betide  him,  who  having 
received  it,  holds  it  as  of  mere  personal  value,  to  be  used  for 
Self  and  not  for  God  !  Divine  laws  moved  you  gently  in  the 
right  path  of  study, — the  path  of  suffering,  of  disappoint- 
ment, of  self-denial  and  poverty, — for  only  by  these  things  is 
humanity  made  noble,  and  trained  in  the  ways  of  perfection. 
Through  pain  and  enduring  labour  the  soul  is  armed  for  battle, 
and  strengthened  for  conquest.  For  it  is  more  difficult  to 
bear  a  victory  well,  than  to  endure  many  buffetings  of  war ! 
But  you, — you  resented  Heaven's  good-will  towards  you, — the 
Valley  of  Humiliation  suited  you  not  at  all.  Poverty  mad- 
dened you, — starvation  sickened  you.  Yet  poverty  is  better 
than  arrogant  wealth, — and  starvation  is  healthier  than  self- 
indulgence  !  You  could  not  wait, — your  own  troubles  seemed 
to  you  enormous, — your  own  efforts  laudable  and  marvellous, 
— the  troubles  and  efforts  of  others  were  nothing  to  you ; — 
you  were  ready  to  curse  God  and  die.  Compassionating  your- 
self, admiring  yourself  and  none  other,  with  a  heart  full  of 
bitterness,  and  a  mouth  full  of  cursing,  you  were  eager  to  make 
quick  havoc  of  both  your  genius  and  your  soul.  For  this 
cause,  your  millions  of  money  came and, — so  did  I r' 

Standing  now  full  height  he  confronted  me, — his  eyes  were 
less  brilliant,  but,  they  reflected  in  their  dark  splendour  a 
passionate  scorn  and  sorrow. 

"  O  fool ! — in  my  very  coming  I  warned  you  ! — on  the  very 
day  we  met  I  told  you  I  was  not  what  I  seemed  !  God's  ele- 
ments crashed  a  menace  when  we  made  our  compact  of  friend- 
ship !     And  I, — when  I  saw  the  faint  last  struggle  of  the  not 


448  THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN 

quite  torpid  soul  in  you  to  resist  and  distrust  me,  did  I  not 
urge  you  to  let  that  better  instinct  have  its  way  ?  You, — ^jester 
with  the  Supernatural  ! — you, — base  scoffer  at  Christ  !  A 
thousand  hints  have  been  given  you, — a  thousand  chances  of 
doing  such  good  as  must  have  forced  me  to  leave  you, — as 
would  have  brought  me  a  welcome  respite  from  sorrow, — a 
moment's  cessation  of  torture  !" 

His  brows  contracted  in  a  sombre  frown, — he  was  silent  a 
moment, — then  he  resumed — 

**  Now  learn  from  me  the  weaving  of  the  web  you  so  will- 
ingly became  entangled  in  !  Your  millions  of  money  were 
Mine  ! — the  man  that  left  you  heir  to  them,  was  a  wretched 
miser,  evil  to  the  soul's  core  !  By  virtue  of  his  own  deeds  he 
and  his  dross  were  Mine  !  and  maddened  by  the  sheer  accumu- 
lation of  world's  wealth,  he  slew  himself  in  a  fit  of  frenzy. 
He  lives  again  in  a  new  and  much  more  realistic  phase  of 
existence,  and  knows  the  actual  value  of  mankind's  cash- 
payments  !     This  you  have  yet  to  learn  ! ' ' 

He  advanced  a  step  or  two,  fixing  his  eyes  more  steadily 
upon  me. 

"Wealth  is  like  Genius, — bestowed  not  for  personal  grati- 
fication, but  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  lack  it.  What  have 
you  done  for  your  fellow-men  ?  The  very  book  you  wrote 
and  launched  upon  the  tide  of  bribery  and  corruption,  was 
published  with  the  intention  to  secure  applause  for  Yourself, 
not  to  give  help  or  comfort  to  others.  Your  marriage  was 
prompted  by  Lust  and  Ambition,  and  in  the  fair  Sensuality 
you  wedded,  you  got  your  deserts  !  No  love  was  in  the 
union,— it  was  sanctified  by  the  blessing  of  Fashion,  but 
not  the  blessing  of  God.  You  have  done  without  God,  so 
you  fhink !  Every  act  of  your  existence  has  been  for  the 
pleasure  and  advancement  of  Yourself, — and  this  is  why  I 
have  chosen  you  out  to  hear  and  see  what  few  mortals 
ever  hear  or  see  till  they  have  passed  the  dividing-line 
between  this  life  and  the  next.  I  have  chosen  you  because 
you  are  a  type  of  the  apparently  respected  and  unblamable 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN  449 

man; — you  are  not  what  the  world  calls  a  criminal, — you 
have  murdered  no  one, — )ou  have  stolen  no  neighbour's 
goods, — your  unchastities  and  adulteries  are  those  of  every 
'  fashionable'  vice-monger, — and  your  blasphemies  against  the 
Divine  are  no  worse  than  those  of  the  most  approved  modern 
magazine-contributors.  You  are  guilty  nevertheless  of  the 
chief  crime  of  the  age, — Sensual  Egotism, — the  blackest  sin 
known  to  either  angels  or  devils,  because  hopeless.  The 
murderer  may  repent,  and  save  a  hundred  lives  to  make  up 
for  the  one  he  snatched, — the  thief  may  atone  with  honest 
labour, — the  adulterer  may  scourge  his  flesh  and  do  grim 
penance  for  late  pardon, — the  blasphemer  may  retrieve  his 
blasphemies, — but  for  the  Egoist  there  is  no  chance  of  whole- 
some penitence,  since  to  himself  he  is  perfect,  and  counts 
his  Creator  as  somew^hat  inferior  !  This  present  time  of  the 
world  breathes  Egotism, — the  taint  of  Self,  the  hideous  wor- 
ship of  money  corrodes  all  life,  all  thought,  all  feeling.  For 
vulgar  cash,  the  fairest  and  noblest  scenes  of  Nature  are 
wantonly  destroyed  without  protest,-'' — the  earth,  created  in 
beauty,  is  made  hideous, — parents  and  children,  wives  and 
husbands  are  ready  to  slay  each  other  for  a  little  gold, — 
Heaven  is  barred  out, — God  is  denied, — and  Destruction 
darkens  over  this  planet,  known  to  all  angels  as  the  Sorrow^ful 
Star!  Be  no  longer  blind,  millionaire  whose  millions  have 
ministered  to  Self  without  relieving  sorrow  ! — for  when  the 
w^orld  is  totally  corrupt, — when  Self  is  dominant, — when  cun- 
ning supersedes  honesty, — when  gold  is  man's  chief  ambi- 
tion,— when  purity  is  condemned, — when  poets  teach  lewd- 
ness, and  scientists  blasphemy, — when  love  is  mocked,  and 
God  forgotten, — the  End  is  near !  I  take  My  part  in  that 
end  ! — for  the  souls  of  mankind  are  not  done  with  when  they 
leave  their  fleshly  tenements  !  When  this  planet  is  destroyed 
as  a  bubble  broken  in  the  air,  the  souls  of  men  and  women 


*  Witness  the  destruction  of  Foyers,  to  the  historical  shame  and  disgrace 
of  Scotland. — AUTHOR. 

dd  38* 


450  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

live  on, — as  the  soul  of  the  woman  you  loved  lives  on, — as 
the  soul  of  the  mother  who  bore  her  lives  on, — aye ! — as  all 
My  worshippers  live  on  through  a  myriad  worlds,  a  myriad 
phases,  till  they  learn  to  shape  their  destinies  for  Heaven  ! 
And  I,  with  them  live  on,  in  many  shapes,  in  many  ways  ! — 
when  they  return  to  God  cleansed  and  perfect,  so  shall  I 
return  ! — but  not  till  then  !" 

He  paused  again, — and  I  heard  a  faint  sighing  sound  every- 
where as  of  wailing  voices,  and  the  name  **  Ahrimanes  !"  was 
breathed  suddenly  upon  the  silence.     I  started  up  listening, 

every  nerve  strained Ahrimanes? — or  Rimanez?     I  gazed 

fearfully  at  him,  .  .  .  always  beautiful,  his  countenance  was 
now  sublime,  .   .   .  and  his  eyes  shone  with  a  lustrous  flame. 

*'You  thought  me  friend!"  he  said.  *'You  should  have 
known  me  foe  !  For  everyone  who  flatters  a  man  for  his  vir- 
tues, or  humours  him  in  his  vices,  is  that  man's  worst  enemy, 
whether  demon  or  angel !  But  you  judged  me  a  fitting  com- 
rade,— hence  I  was  bound  to  serve  you, — I  and  my  followers 
with  me.  You  had  no  perception  to  realize  this, — you,  supreme 
scorner  of  the  Supernatural !  Little  did  you  think  of  the  terri- 
fying agencies  that  worked  the  wonders  of  your  betrothal  feast 
at  Willovvsmere  !  Little  did  you  dream  that  fiends  prepared 
the  costly  banquet  and  poured  out  the  luscious  wine  !" 

At  this,  a  smothered  groan  of  horror  escaped  me, — I  looked 
wildly  round  me,  longing  to  find  some  deep  grave  of  oblivious 
rest  wherein  to  fall. 

"Aye!"  he  continued — ''The  festival  was  fitted  to  the  time 
of  the  world  to  day  ! — Society,  gorging  itself  blind  and  sense- 
less, and  attended  by  a  retinue  from  Hell !  My  servants 
looked  like  men  ! — for  truly  there  is  little  difference  'twixt 
man  and  devil.  'Twas  a  brave  gathering  I — England  has  never 
seen  so  strange  a  one  in  all  her  annals  !" 

The  sighing,  wailing  cries  increased  in  loudness, — my  limbs 
shook  under  me,  and  all  power  of  thought  was  paralyzed  in 
my  brain.  He  bent  his  piercing  looks  upon  me  with  a  new 
expression  of  infinite  wonder,  pity  and  disdain. 


THE   SORROWS    OF   SATAN  451 

*'What  a  grotesque  creation  you  men  have  made  of  Me  !" 
he  said — "as  grotesque  as  your  conception  of  God!  With 
what  trifling  human  attributes  you  have  endowed  me  !  Know 
you  not  that  the  changeless,  yet  ever-changing  Essence  of 
Immortal  Life  can  take  a  million  million  shapes  and  yet 
remain  unalterably  the  same  ?  Were  I  as  hideous  as  your 
Churches  figure  me, — could  the  eternal  beauty  with  which  all 
angels  are  endowed,  ever  change  to  such  loathsomeness  as 
haunts  mankind's  distorted  imaginations,  perchance  it  would 
be  well, — for  none  would  make  of  me  their  comrade,  and 
none  would  cherish  me  as  friend.  As  fits  each  separate  human 
nature,  so  seems  my  image, — for  thus  is  my  fate  and  punish- 
ment commanded.  Yet  even  in  this  mask  of  man  I  wear,  men 
own  me  their  superior, — think  you  not  that  when  the  Supreme 
Spirit  of  God  wore  that  same  mask  on  earth,  men  did  not 
know  Him  for  their  Master  ?  Yea,  they  did  know, — and  know- 
ing, murdered  Him, — as  they  ever  strive  to  murder  all  divine 
things  as  soon  as  their  divinity  is  recognised.  Face  to  face 
I  stood  with  Him  upon  the  mountain-top,  and  there  fulfilled 
my  vow  of  temptation.     Worlds  and  kingdoms,  supremacies 

and  powers  ! what  were  they  to  the  Ruler  of  them  all  ! 

*Get  thee  hence,  Satan  !'  said  the  golden-sounding  Voice, — 
ah  ! — glorious  behest  ! — happy  respite  ! — for  I  reached  the 
very  gate  of  Heaven  that  night,  and  heard  the  angels  sing  !" 

His  accents  sank  to  an  infinitely  mournful  cadence. 

''What  have  your  teachers  done  with  Me  and  my  eternal 
sorrows?"  he  went  on.  "  Have  not  they,  and  the  unthinking 
churches,  proclaimed  a  lie  against  me,  saying  that  I  rejoice  in 
evil?  Oh,  man  to  whom,  by  God's  will  and  because  the 
world's  end  draws  nigh,  I  unveil  a  portion  of  the  mystery  of 
my  doom,  learn  now  once  and  for  all,  that  there  is  no  possible 
joy  in  evil !  It  is  the  despair  and  the  discord  of  the  Uni- 
verse,—it  is  Man's  creation, — My  torment, — God's  sorrow! 
Every  sin  of  every  human  being  adds  weight  to  my  torture, 
and  length  to  my  doom, — yet  my  oath  against  the  world  must 
be  kept.  I  have  sworn  to  tempt, — to  do  my  uttermost  to  destroy 


452  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

mankind, — but  man  has  not  sworn  to  yield  to  my  tempting. 
He  is  free  ! — let  him  resist,  and  1  depart ; — let  him  accept  me, 
I  remain  !  Eternal  Justice  has  spoken, — Humanity,  through 
the  teaching  of  God  made  human,  must  work  out  its  own 
redemption, — and  Mine!" 

Here,  suddenly  advancing,  he  stretched  out  his  hand, — his 
figure  grew  taller,  vaster  and  more  majestic. 

''  Come  with  me  now  !"  he  said  in  a  low  penetrating  voice 
that  sounded  sweet,  yet  menacing.  *'  Come  ! — for  the  veil  is 
down  for  you  to-night !  You  shall  understand  wiih  WHOM 
you  have  dwelt  so  long  in  your  shifting  cloud-castle  of  life  ! — 
and  in  What  company  you  have  sailed  perilous  seas ! — one 
who,  proud  and  rebellious,  like  you,  errs  less  in  that  he  owns 
GOD  as  his  Master!" 

At  these  words  a  thundering  crash  assailed  my  ears, — all 
the  windows  on  either  side  of  the  saloon  flew  open,  and 
showed  a  strange  glitter  as  of  steely  spears  pointed  aloft  to 
the  moon,  .  .  .  then,  ,  .  .  half-fainting,  I  felt  myself 
grasped  and  lifted  suddenly  and  forcibly  upwards,  .  .  .  and 
in  another  moment  found  myself  on  the  deck  of  '  The 
Flame,'  held  fast  as  a  prisoner  in  the  fierce  grip  of  hands 
invisible.  Raising  my  eyes  in  deadly  despair, — prepared  for 
hellish  tortures,  and  with  a  horrible  sense  of  conviction  in  my 
soul  that  it  was  too  late  to  cry  out  to  God  for  mercy, — I  saw 
around  me  a  frozen  world  ! — a  world  that  seemed  as  if  the 
sun  had  never  shone  upon  it.  Thick  glassy-green  walls  of 
ice  pressed  round  the  vessel  on  all  sides  and  shut  her  in 
between  their  inflexible  barriers, — fantastic  palaces,  pinnacles, 
towers,  bridges  and  arches  of  ice,  formed  in  their  architectural 
outlines  and  groupings  the  semblance  of  a  great  city, — over 
all  the  coldly  glistening  peaks  the  round  moon,  emerald-pale, 
looked  down, — and  standing  opposite  to  me  against  the  mast, 
I  beheld,   .   .    .  not  Lucio,   .   .   .  but  an  Angel ! 


THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN  453 


XLI 

Crowned  with  a  mystic  radiance  as  of  trembling  stars  of 
fire,  that  sublime  Figure  towered  between  me  and  the  moonlit 
sky ;  the  face,  austerely  grand  and  beautiful,  shone  forth 
luminously  pale, — the  eyes  were  full  of  unquenchable  pain, 
unspeakable  remorse,  unimaginable  despair  !  The  features 
1  had  known  so  long  and  seen  day  by  day  in  familiar  inter- 
course were  the  same, — the  same,  yet  transfigured  with  ethereal 
splendour,  while  shadowed  by  an  everlasting  sorrow  !  Bodily 
sensations  I  was  scarcely  conscious  of; — only  the  Soul  of 
me,  hitherto  dormant,  was  awake  and  palpitating  with  fear. 
Gradually  I  became  aware  that  others  were  around  me,  and 
looking,  I  saw  a  dense  crowd  of  faces,  wild  and  wonderful, — 
imploring  eyes  were  turned  upon  me  in  piteous  or  stern  agony, 
— and  pallid  hands  were  stretched  towards  me  more  in  appeal 
than  menace.  And  I  beheld,  as  I  gazed,  the  air  darkening 
and  anon  lightening  wiih  the  shadow  and  the  brightness  of 
wings !  — vast  pinions  of  crimson  flame  began  to  unfurl  and 
spread  upwards  all  round  the  ice-bound  vessel, — upwards 
till  their  glowing  tips  seemed  well-nigh  to  touch  the  moon. 
And  He,  my  Foe,  who  leaned  against  the  mast,  became 
likewise  encircled  with  these  shafted  pinions  of  burning 
rose,  which,  like  finely-webbed  clouds  coloured  by  a  strong 
sunset,  streamed  outwards  flaringly  from  his  dark  Form  and 
sprang  aloft  in  a  blaze  of  scintillant  glory.  And  a  Voice 
infinitely  sad,  yet  infinitely  sweet,  struck  solemn  music  frojii 
the  frozen  silence. 

''  Steer  onward,  Amiel !  Onward,  to  the  boundaries  of  the 
world!" 

With  every  spiritual  sense  aroused  I  glanced  towards  the 
steersman's  wheel, — was  M^/ Amiel?  .  .  .  that  Being,  stern  as 
a  figure  of  deadliest  fate,  with  sable  wings  and  tortured  coun- 


454  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 

tenance?  If  so,  I  knew  him  for  a  fiend  in  very  truth,  if 
burning  horror  and  endless  shame  can  so  transfigure  the  soul 
of  man  !  A  history  of  crime  was  written  in  his  anguished 
looks,  .  .  .  what  secret  torment  racked  him  no  living  mortal 
might  dare  to  guess  !  With  pallid  skeleton  hands  he  moved 
the  wheel ; — and  as  it  turned,  the  walls  of  ice  around  us 
began  to  split  with  a  noise  of  thunder. 

''Onward,  Amiel!"  said  the  great  sad  Voice  again — 
"  Onward  where  never  man  hath  trod, — steer  on  to  the 
world's  end  !" 

The  crowd  of  weird  and  terrible  faces  grew  denser, — the 
flaming  and  darkening  of  wings  became  thicker  than  driving 
storm-clouds  rent  by  lightning, — wailing  cries,  groans  and 
dreary  sounds  of  sobbing  echoed  about  me  on  all  sides,  .  .  . 
again  the  shattering  ice  roared  like  an  earthquake  under  the 
waters,  .  .  .  and,  unhindered  by  her  frozen  prison-walls,  the 
ship  moved  on  !  Dizzily,  and  as  one  in  a  mad  dream  I  saw 
the  great  glittering  bergs  rock  and  bend  forward, — the  massive 
ice-city  shook  to  its  foundations,  .  .  .  glistening  pinnacles 
dropped  and  vanished,  .  .  .  towers  lurched  over,  broke  and 
plunged  into  the  sea, — huge  mountains  of  ice  split  up  like  fine 
glass,  yawning  asunder  with  a  green  glare  in  the  moonlight  as 
the  '  Flame,'  propelled,  so  it  seemed,  by  the  demon-wings  of 
hef  terrific  crew,  cut  through  the  frozen  passage  with  the 
sharpness  of  a  sword  and  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow  !  Whither 
were  we  bound  ?  I  dared  not  think, — I  deenied  myself  dead. 
The  world  I  saw  was  not  the  world  I  knew, — I  believed  I  was 
in  some  spirit-land  beyond  the  grave,  whose  secrets  I  should 
presently  realize  perchance  too  well !  On, — on  we  went, — I 
keeping  my  strained  sight  fixed  for  the  most  part  on  the 
supreme  Shape  that  always  confronted  me, — that  Angel-Foe 
whose  eyes  were  wild  with  an  eternity  of  sorrows  !  Face  to 
face  with  such  Immortal  Despair,  I  stood  confounded  and  slain 
forever  in  my  own  regard, — a  worthless  atom,  meriting  naught 
but  annihilation.  The  wailing  cries  and  groans  had  ceased, 
— and  we  sped  on  in  an  awful  silence, — while  countless  trage- 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  455 

dies,  unnamable  griefs,  were  urged  upon  me  in  the  dumb 
eloquence  of  the  dreary  faces  round  me,  and  the  expressive 
teaching  of  their  terrific  eyes. 

Soon  the  barriers  of  ice  were  passed, — and  the  '  Flame' 
floated  out  beyond  them  into  a  warm  inland  sea,  calm  as  a 
lake,  and  bright  as  silver  in  the  broad  radiance  of  the  moon. 
On  either  side  were  undulating  shores,  rich  with  lofty  and 
luxuriant  verdure, — I  saw  the  distant  hazy  outline  of  dusky 
purple  hills, — I  heard  the  little  waves  plashing  against  hidden 
rocks,  and  murmuring  upon  the  sand.  Delicious  odours  filled 
the  air ; — a  gentle  breeze  blew,  .  .  .  was  this  the  lost  Para- 
dise ? — this  semi  -tropic  zone  concealed  behind  a  continent  of 
ice  and  snow  ?  Suddenly,  from  the  tops  of  the  dark  branching 
trees,  came  floating  the  sound  of  a  bird's  singing, — and  so 
sweet  was  the  song,  so  heart-whole  was  the  melody,  that  my 
aching  eyes  filled  with  tears.  Beautiful  memories  rushed  upon 
me, — the  value  and  graciousness  of  life, — life  on  the  kindly 
sunlit  earth, — seemed  very  dear  to  my  soul !  Life's  oppor- 
tunities,— its  joys,  its  wonders,  its  blessings,  all  showered  down 
upon  a  thankless  race  by  a  loving  Creator,— these  appeared  to 
me  all  at  once  as  marvellous  !  Oh,  for  another  chance  of  such 
life  ! — to  redeem  the  past, — to  gather  up  the  wasted  gems  of 
lost  moments, — to  live  as  a  man  should  live,  in  accord  with 
the  will  of  God  and  in  brotherhood  with  his  fellow-men  !  .  .  . 
The  unknown  bird  sang  on  in  a  cadence  like  that  of  a  mavis 
in  spring,  only  more  tunefully, — surely  no  other  woodland 
songster  ever  sang  half  so  well !  And  as  its  dulcet  notes 
dropped  roundly  one  by  one  upon  the  mystic  silence,  I  saw  a 
pale  Creature  move  out  from  amid  the  shadowing  of  black  and 
scarlet  wings, —a  white  woman-shape,  clothed  in  her  own  long 
hair.  Slowly  she  glided  to  the  vessel's  edge,  and  there  she 
leaned,  with  anguished  face  upturned, — it  was  the  face  of 
Sibyl  !  And  even  while  I  looked  upon  her,  she  cast  herself 
wildly  down  upon  the  deck  and  wept.  My  soul  was  stirred 
within  me,  ...  I  saw  in  very  truth  all  that  she  might  have 
been, — I    realized  what  an  angel    a    lit.le  guiding  love  and 


456  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

patience  might  have  made  her,  .  .  .  and  at  last  I  pitied  her  ! 
I  never  pitied  her  before  ! 

And  now  many  familiar  faces  shone  upon  me  like  white 
stars  in  a  mist  of  rain, — all  faces  of  the  dead, — all  marked  with 
unquenchable  remorse  and  sorrow.  One  figure  passed  before 
me  dreamily,  in  fetters  glistening  with  a  weight  of  gold, — I 
knew  him  for  my  college  friend  of  olden  days;  another, 
crouching  on  the  ground  in  fear,  I  recognised  as  him  who 
had  staked  his  last  possession  at  play,  even  to  his  immortal 
soul, — I  even  saw  my  father's  face,  worn  and  aghast  with  grief, 
— and  trembled  lest  the  sacred  beauty  of  her  who  had  died  to 
give  me  birth  should  find  a  place  among  these  direful  horrors. 

But  no  ! — thank  God  I  never  saw  her  ! her  spirit  had  not 

lost  its  way  to  Heaven  ! 

Again  my  eyes  reverted  to  the  Mover  of  this  mystic  scene, 
— that  Fallen  Splendour  whose  majestic  shape  now  seemed  to 
fill  both  earth  and  sky.  A  fiery  glory  blazed  about  him,  .  .  . 
he  raised  his  hand,  .  .  .  the  ship  stopped, — and  the  dark 
Steersman  rested  motionless  on  the  wheel.  Round  us  the 
moonlit  landscape  was  spread  like  a  glittering  dream  of  fairy- 
land,— and  still  the  unknown  bird  of  God  sang  on  with  such 
entrancing  tenderness  as  must  have  soothed  hell's  tortured 
souls. 

"  Lo,  here  we  pause !"  said  the  commanding  Voice.  "Here, 
where  the  distorted  shape  of  Man  hath  never  cast  a  shadow  ! — 
here, — where  the  arrogant  mind  of  Man  hath  never  conceived 
a  sin  ! — here,  where  the  godless  greed  of  Man  hath  never 
defaced  a  beauty,  or  slain  a  woodland  thing  ! — here,  the  last 
spot  on  earth  left  untainted  by  Man's  presence  !  Here  is  the 
world's  end  ! — when  this  land  is  found  and  these  shores  pro- 
faned,— when  Mammon  plants  its  foot  upon  this  soil, — then 
dawns  the  Judgment-Day  !  But,  until  then,  .  .  .  here,  where 
only  God  doth  work  perfection,  angels  may  look  down  undis- 
mayed, and  even  fiends  find  rest !" 

A  solemn  sound  of  music  surged  upon  the  air, — and  I  who 
had  been  one  as  in  chains,  bound  by  invisible  bonds  and  unable 


THE    SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


457 


to  stir,  was  suddenly  liberated.  Fully  conscious  of  freedom  I 
still  faced  the  dark  gigantic  figure  of  my  foe, — for  his  lumi- 
nous eyes  were  now  upon  me,  and  his  penetrating  voice  ad- 
dressed me  only. 

''Man,  deceive  not  thyself!"  he  said.  ''Think  not  the 
terrors  of  this  night  are  the  delusion  of  a  dream  or  the  snare 
of  a  vision  !  Thou  art  awake,  not  sleeping, — thou  art  flesh  as 
well  as  spirit !  This  place  is  neither  hell  nor  heaven  nor  any 
s]  ace  between, — it  is  a  corner  of  thine  own  world  on  which 
thou  livest.  Wherefore  know  from  henceforth  that  the  Super- 
natural Universe  in  and  around  the  Natural  is  no  lie,  but  the 
chief  Reality,  inasmuch  as  God  surroundeth  all !  Fate  strikes 
thine  hour, — and  in  this  hour  'tis  given  thee  to  choose  thy 
Master.  Now,  by  the  will  of  God,  thou  seest  me  as  Angel, — 
but  take  heed  thou  forget  not  that  among  men  I  am  as  Man  ! 
In  human  form  I  move  with  all  humanity  through  endless  ages, 
— to  kings  and  counsellors,  to  priests  and  scientists,  to  think- 
ers and  teachers,  to  old  and  young  I  come  in  the  shape  their 
pride  or  vice  demands,  and  am  as  one  with  all !  Self  finds 
in  me  another  Ego  ; — but  from  the  pure  in  heart,  the  high  in 
faith,  the  perfect  in  intention,  I  do  retreat  with  joy,  offering 
naught  save  reverence,  demanding  naught  save  prayer  !  So  am 
I, — so  must  I  ever  be, — till  Man  of  his  own  will  releases  and 
redeems  me.  Mistake  me  not,  but  know  me  ! — and  choose 
thy  Future  for  truth's  sake  and  not  for  fear !  Choose  and 
change  not  in  any  time  hereafter, — this  hour,  this  moment  is 
thy  last  probation, — choose,  I  say  !  Wilt  thou  serve  Self  and 
Me?  or  God  only?" 

The  question  seemed  thundered  on  my  ears,  .  .  .  shudder- 
ing, I  looked  from  right  to  left,  and  saw  a  gathering  crowd  of 
faces,  white,  wistful,  wondering,  threatening  and  imploring, — 
they  pressed  about  me  close,  with  glistening  eyes  and  lips 
that  moved  dumbly.  And  as  they  stared  upon  me  I  beheld 
another  spectral  thing, — the  image  of  Myself! — a  poor  frail 
creature,  pitiful,  ignorant,  and  undiscerning, — limited  in  both 
capacity  and  intelligence,  yet  full  of  strange  egotism  and  still 


458  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

stranger  arrogance ;  every  detail  of  my  life  was  suddenly 
presented  to  me  as  in  a  magic  mirror,  and  1  read  my  own 
clironicle  of  j)altry  mtellectual  pride,  vulgar  ambition  and 
vulgarer  ostentation,  —  I  realized  with  shame  my  miserable 
vices,  my  puny  scorn  of  God,  my  effronteries  and  blasphemies  ; 
and  in  the  sudden  strong  repulsion  and  repudiation  of  my  own 
worthless  existence,  being  and  character,  I  found  both  voice 
and  speech. 

''God  only!"  I  cried  fervently.  ''Annihilation  at  His 
hands  rather  than  life  without  Him  !  God  only  !  I  have 
chosen  !" 

My  words  vibrated  passionately  on  my  own  ears,  .  .  .  and 
.  .  .  even  as  they  were  spoken,  the  air  grew  misty  with  a 
snowy  opalescent  radiance,  .  .  .  the  sable  and  crimson  wings 
uplifted  in  such  multitudmous  array  around  me,  palpitated 
with  a  thousand  changeful  hues,  .  .  .  and  over  the  face  of  my 
dark  Foe  a  light  celestial  fell  like  the  smile  of  dawn  !  Awed 
and  afraid  I  gazed  upwards,  .  .  .  and  there  I  saw  a  new  and 
yet  more  wondrous  glory,  ...  a  shining  Figure  outlined 
against  the  sky  in  such  surpassing  beauty  and  vivid  brilliancy 
as  made  me  think  the  sun  itself  had  risen  in  vast  Angel-shape 
on  rainbow  pinions  !  And  from  the  brightening  heaven  there 
rang  a  silver  voice,  clear  as  a  clarion-call, — 

'^  Arise,  Lucifer,  Son  of  the  Morning!  One  soul  rejects 
thee; — one  hour  of  joy  is  granted  thee  !     Hence,  a?id  arise  !' ' 

Earth,  air,  and  sea  blazed  suddenly  into  fiery  gold, — blinded 
and  stunned,  I  was  seized  by  compelling  hands  and  held  firmly 
down  by  a  force  invisible,  .  ,  .  the  yacht  was  slowly  sinking 
under  me  !  Overwhelmed  with  unearthly  terrors,  my  lips  yet 
murmured — 

"God!  God  only  !"  The  heavens  changed  from  gold  to 
crimson — anon  to  shining  blue,  .  .  .  and  against  this  mass  of 
wavering  colour  that  seemed  to  make  a  jewelled  archway  of  the 
sky,  I  saw  the  Form  of  him  whom  I  had  known  as  man,  swiftly 
ascend  god-like, — with  flaming  pinions  and  upturned  glorious 
visage,   like    a    vision   of   light    in  darkness !     Around    him 


THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN  459 

clustered  a  million  winged  shapes, — but  He,  supreme,  majes- 
tic, wonderful,  towered  high  above  them  all,  a  very  king  of 
splendour,  the  glory  round  his  brows  resembling  meteor-fires 
in  an  Arctic  midnight, — his  eyes,  twin  stars,  ablaze  with  such 
great  rapture  as  seemed  half  agony  !  Breathless  and  giddy,  I 
strained  my  sight  to  follow  him  as  he  fled ;  .  .  .  and  heard 
the  musical  calling  of  strange  sweet  voices  everywhere,  from 
east  to  west,  from  north  to  south. 

"  Lucifer  !  Beloved  and  unforgotten  !  Lucifer,  Son  of  the 
morning!     Arise!   .   .   .  arise!   ..." 

With  all  my  remaining  strength  I  strove  to  watch  the  van- 
ishing upwards  of  that  subhme  Luminance  that  now  filled  the 
visible  universe, — the  demon-ship  was  still  sinking  steadily, 
.  .  .  invisible  hands  still  held  me  down,  ...  I  was  falling, 
— falling, — into  unimaginable  depths,  .  .  .  when  another 
voice,  till  then  unheard,  solemn  yet  sweet,  spoke  aloud — 

"Bind  him  hand  and  foot  and  cast  him  into  the  outermost 
darkness  of  the  world  !     There  let  him  find  My  Light ! ' ' 

I  heard, — yet  felt  no  fear.  "God  only  !"  I  said,  as  I  sank 
into  the  vast  profound, — and  lo  !  while  the  words  yet  trembled 
on  my  lips,  I  saw  the  sun  !  The  sweet  earth's  sun  ! — the 
kindly  orb  familiar, — the  lamp  of  God's  protection, — its 
golden  rim  came  glittering  upwards  in  the  east, — higher  and 
higher  it  rose,  making  a  golden  background  for  that  mighty 
Figure  whose  darkly  luminous  wings  now  seemed  like  sable 
storm-clouds  stretched  wide  across  the  horizon  !  Once  more 
.  .  .  yet  once,  .  .  .  the  Angel-visage  bent  its  warning  looks 
on  me,  ...  I  saw  the  anguished  smile,  .  .  .  the  great  eyes 
burning  with  immortal  sorrows  !  .  .  .  then  I  was  plunged 
forcibly  downwards  and  thrust  into  an  abysmal  grave  of  frozen 
cold. 


46o  THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN 


XLII 

The  blue  sea, — the  blue  sky  ! — and  God's  sunshine  over 
all  !  To  this  I  woke,  after  a  long  period  of  unconsciousness, 
and  found  myself  afloat  on  a  wide  ocean,  fast  bound  to  a 
wooden  spar.  So  strongly  knotted  were  my  bonds  that  I 
could  not  stir  either  hand  or  foot,  .  .  .  and  after  one  or  two 
ineffectual  struggles  to  move  I  gave  up  the  attempt,  and  lay 
submissively  resigned  to  my  fate,  face  upturned,  and  gazing 
at  the  infinite  azure  depths  above  me,  while  the  heaving 
breath  of  the  sea  rocked  me  gently  to  and  fro  like  an  infant 
in  its  mother's  arms.  Alone  with  God  and  Nature,  I,  a  poor 
human  wreck,  drifted, — lost,  yet  found  !  Lost  on  this  vast 
sea  which  soon  should  serve  my  body  as  a  sepulchre,  .  .  . 
but  found,  inasmuch  as  I  was  fully  conscious  of  the  existence 
and  awakening  of  the  Immortal  Soul  within  me, — that  divine, 
actual  and  imperishable  essence,  which  now  I  recognised  as 
being  all  that  is  valuable  in  a  man  in  the  sight  of  his  Creator. 
I  was  to  die  soon  and  surely ; — this  I  thought  as  the  billows 
swayed  me  in  their  huge  cradle,  running  in  foamy  ripples 
across  my  bound  body,  and  dashing  cool  spray  upon  my 
brows, — what  could  I  do  now,  doomed  and  helpless  as  I  was, 
to  retrieve  my  wasted  past?  Nothing!  save  repent, — and 
could  repentance  at  so  late  an  hour  fit  the  laws  of  eternal 
justice?  Humbly  and  sorrowfully  I  considered,  .  .  to  me 
had  been  given  a  terrific  and  unprecedented  experience  of  the 
awful  Reality  of  the  Spirit-world  around  us, — and  now  I  was 
cast  out  on  the  sea  as  a  thing  worthless,  I  felt  that  the  brief 
time  remaining  to  me  of  life  in  this  present  sphere  was  indeed 
my  'Mast  probation,"  as  that  Supernatural  Wonder,  the  de- 
clared Enemy  of  mankind,  whom  still  in  my  thoughts  I  called 
Lucio,  had  declared. 

"If  I  dared, — after  a  life's  denial  and  blasphemy, — turn  to 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  461 

Christ!"  I  said, — "would  He, — the  Divine  Brother  and 
Friend  of  man, — reject  me?" 

I  whispered  the  question  to  the  sky  and  sea,  .  .  .  solemn 
silence  seemed  to  invest  the  atmosphere,  and  marvellous 
calm.  No  other  answer  came  than  this,  ...  a  deep  and 
charmed  peace,  that  insensibly  stole  over  my  fretting  con- 
science, my  remorseful  soul,  my  aching  heart,  my  tired  mind. 
I  remembered  certain  words  heard  long  ago  and  lightly  for- 
gotten. ^^  Him  who  comcth  unto  Ale  will  I  in  no  wise  cast 
oiit.^^  Looking  up  to  the  clear  heavens  and  radiant  sun,  I 
smiled ;  and  with  a  complete  abandonment  of  myself  and  my 
fears  to  the  Divine  Will,  I  murmured  the  words  that  in  my 
stress  of  my-^tic  agony  had  so  far  saved  me — 

''  God  only  !  Whatsoever  He  shall  choose  for  me  in  life, 
in  death,  and  after  deaih,  is  best." 

And  closing  my  eyes,  I  resigned  my  life  to  the  mercy  of 
the  soft  waves,  and  with  the  sunbeams  warm  upon  my  face, 
I  slept. 


I  woke  again  with  an  icy  shudder  and  cry, — rough  cheery 
voices  sounded  in  my  ears, — strong  hands  were  at  work  busily 
unfastening  the  cords  with  which  I  was  bound,  ...  I  was  on 
the  deck  of  a  large  steamer,  surrounded  by  a  group  of  men, — 
and  all  the  glory  of  the  sunset  fired  the  seas.  Questions  were 
poured  upon  me,  ...  I  could  not  answer  them,  for  my 
tongue  was  parched  and  blistered,  .  .  .  lifted  upright  upon 
my  feet  by  sturdy  arms,  I  could  not  stand  for  sheer  exhaus- 
tion.    Dimly,  and  in  feeble  dread  I  stared  around  me, was 

this  great  vessel  with  smoking  funnels  and  grinding  engines 
another  devil's  craft  set  sailing  round  the  world  !  Too  weak 
to  find  a  voice  I  made  dumb  signs  of  terrified  inquiry,  .  .  . 
a  broad-shouldered,  bluff-looking  man  came  forward,  whose 
keen  eyes  rested  on  me  with  kindly  compassion. 

39* 


462  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

''  This  is  an  English  vessel,"  he  said.  *'\Ve  are  bound  for 
Southamjjton.  Our  helmsman  saw  you  floating  ahead, — we 
stopped  and  sent  a  boat  for  rescue.  Where  were  you  wrecked  ? 
Any  more  of  the  crew  afloat?" 

I  gazed  at  him  but  could  not  speak.  The  strangest  thoughts 
crowded  into  my  brain,  moving  me  to  wild  tears  and  laughter. 
England  !  The  word  struck  clashing  music  on  my  mind,  and 
set  all  my  pulses  trembling.  England  !  The  little  spot  upon 
the  little  world,  most  loved  and  honoured  of  all  men,  save 
those  who  envy  its  worth  !     I  made  some  gesture,  whether  of 

joy  or  mad  amazement  I  know  not, had  I  been  able  to 

speak  I  could  have  related  nothing  that  those  men  around 
me  could  have  comprehended  or  believed,  .  .  .  then  I  sank 
back  again  in  a  dead  swoon. 

They  were  very  good  to  me,  all  those  English  sailors.  The 
captain  gave  me  his  own  cabin, — the  ship's  doctor  attended 
me  with  a  zeal  that  was  only  exceeded  by  his  curiosity  to 
know  where  I  came  from,  and  the  nature  of  the  disaster  that 
had  befallen  me.  But  I  remained  dumb,  and  lay  inert  and 
feeble  in  my  berth,  grateful  for  the  care  bestowed  upon  me, 
as  well  as  for  the  temporary  exhaustion  that  deprived  me  of 
speech.  For  I  had  enough  to  do  with  my  own  thoughts, 
— thoughts  far  too  solemn  and  weighty  for  utterance.  I  was 
saved, — I  was  given  another  chance  of  life  in  the  world, — and 
I  knew  why.  My  one  absorbing  anxiety  now  was  to  retrieve 
my  wasted  time,  and  to  do  active  good  where  hitherto  I  had 
done  nothing. 

The  day  came  at  last,  when  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
be  able  to  sit  on  deck  and  watch  with  eager  eyes  the  approach- 
ing coast-line  of  England.  I  seemed  to  have  lived  a  century 
since  I  left  it, — aye,  almost  an  eternity, — for  time  is  what  the 
Soul  makes  it,  and  no  more.  I  was  an  object  of  interest  and 
attention  among  all  the  passengers  on  board,  for  as  yet  I  had 
not  broken  silence.  The  weather  was  calm  and  bright,  .  .  . 
the  suii  shone  gloriously, — and  far  off  the  pearly  rim  of 
Shakespeare's  '■  happy  isle'  glistened  jewel-like  upon  the  edge 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  463 

of  the  sea.  The  captain  came  and  looked  at  me, — nodded 
encouragingly, — and  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  said — 

"Glad  to  see  you  out  on  deck!  Almost  yourself  again, 
eh?" 

I  silently  assented  with  a  faint  smile. 

''Perhaps,"  he  continued,  **  as  we're  so  near  home,  you'll 
let  me  know  your  name?  It's  not  often  we  pick  up  a  man 
alive  and  drifting  in  mid-Atlantic." 

In  mid-Atlantic  !  What  force  had  flung  me  there  I  dared 
not  think,   .   .    .   nor  whether  it  was  hellish  or  divine. 

''My  name?"  I  murmured,  surprised  into  speech, — how 
odd  it  was  I  had  never  thought  of  myself  lately  as  having  a 
name  or  any  other  thing  belonging  to  me  !  "  Why  certainly! 
Geoffrey  Tempest  is  my  name." 

The  captain's  eyes  opened  widely. 

"  Geoffrey  Tempest !  Dear  me  !  .  .  .  The  Mr  Tempest  ? — 
the  great  millionaire  that  was?'" 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  stare. 

"  That  ivas .?' '  I  repeated.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?' ' 

"  Have  you  not  heard  ?"  he  asked  excitedly. 

"  Heird?  I  have  heard  nothing  since  I  left  England  some 
months  ago — with  a  friend,  on  board  his  yacht  .  .  .  we  went 
on  a  long  voyage  and  ...  a  strange  one  !  .  .  .  we  were 
wrecked,  .  .  .  you  know  the  rest,  and  how  I  owe  my  life  to 
your  rescue.     But  of  news  I  am  ignorant  ..." 

"Good  heavens!"  he  interrupted  quickly.  "Bad  news 
travels  fast,  as  a  rule,  they  say, — but  you  have  missed  it  .  .  . 
and  I  confess  I  don't  like  to  be  the  bearer  of  it  .   .   ." 

He  broke  off,  and  his  genial  face  looked  troubled.  I 
smiled, — yet  wondered. 

"  Pray  speak  out!"  I  said.  "I  don't  think  you  can  tell 
me  anything  that  will  deeply  affect  me, — now.  I  know  the 
best  and  worst  of  most  things  in  the  world,  I  assure  you  !" 

He  eyed  me  dubiously ; — then,  going  into  his  smoking- 
cabin,  he  brought  me  out  an  American  newspaper  seven  days 
old.     He  handed  it  to  me,  pointing  to  its  leading  columns 


464  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

without  a  word.  There  I  saw  in  large  type — *'  A  Milh'onaire 
Ruined  !  Enormous  Frauds  !  Monster  Forgeries  !  Gigantic 
Swind  e  !     On  the  track  of  Bentham  and  Ellis  !" 

My  brain  swam  for  a  minute, — then  I  read  on  steadily,  and 
soon  grasped  the  situation.  The  respectable  pair  of  lawyers 
whom  I  had  implicitly  relied  on  for  the  management  of  all  my 
business  affairs  in  my  absence,  had  succumbed  to  the  tempta- 
tion of  having  so  much  cash  in  charge  for  investment, — and 
had  become  a  pair  of  practised  swindlers.  Dealing  with  the 
same  bank  as  myself,  they  had  forged  my  name  so  cleverly 
that  the  genuineness  of  the  signature  had  never  been  even 
suspected, — and,  after  drawing  enormous  sums  in  this  way, 
and  investing  in  various  '  bubble'  companies  with  which  they 
personally  were  concerned,  they  had  finally  absconded,  leav- 
ing me  well-nigh  as  poor  as  I  was  when  I  first  heard  of  my 
inherited  fortune.  I  put  aside  the  paper,  and  looked  up  at  the 
good  captain  who  stood  watching  me  with  sympathetic  anxiety. 

''Thank  you!"  I  said.  "These  thieves  were  my  trusted 
lawyers, — and  I  can  cheerfully  say  that  I  am  much  more  sorry 
for  them  than  I  am  for  myself.  A  thief  is  always  a  thief, — a 
poor  man,  if  he  be  honest,  is  at  any  rate  the  thief's  superior. 
The  money  they  have  stolen  will  bring  them  misery  rather 
than  pleasure, — of  that  I  am  convinced.  If  this  account  be 
correct,  they  have  already  lost  large  sums  in  bogus  compa- 
nies,— and  the  man  Bentham,  whom  I  thought  the  very  acme 
of  shrewd  caution,  has  sunk  an  enormous  amount  of  capital 
in  a  worn-out  gold-mine.  Their  forgeries  must  have  been 
admirably  done  ! — a  sad  waste  of  time  and  cleverness.  It 
appears  too  that  the  investments  I  have  myself  made  are  not 
worth  much  ; — well,  well ! — it  does  not  matter  much, — I  must 
begin  the  world  again,  that's  all."     He  looked  amazed. 

"  I  don't  think  you  quite  realize  your  own  misfortune,  Mr 
Tempest,"  he  said.  *'  You  take  it  too  quietly  by  half.  You'll 
think  worse  of  it  presently." 

''  I  hope  not !"  I  responded,  with  a  smile.  "  It  never  does 
to   think   the  worst  of  anything.     I  assure  you   I   realize  it 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  465 

perfectly.  I  am  in  the  world's  sight  a  ruined  man, — I  quite 
understand  !" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  quite  a  desperate  air,  and 
left  me.  I  am  convinced  he  thought  me  mad, — but  I  knew  I 
had  never  been  so  sane.  I  did  indeed  entirely  comprehend 
my  '  misfortune, '  or  rather  the  great  chance  bestowed  on  me 
of  winning  something  far  higher  than  all  the  coffers  of  Mam- 
mon ;  I  read  in  my  loss  of  world's  cash  the  working  of  such 
a  merciful  providence  and  pity  as  gave  me  a  grander  hope 
than  any  I  had  ever  known.  Clear  before  me  rose  the  vision 
of  that  most  divine  and  beautiful  necessity  of  happiness, — 
Work  ! — the  grand  and  too  often  misprized  Angel  of  Labour, 
which  moulds  the  mind  of  man,  steadies  his  hands,  controls 
his  brain,  purifies  his  passions,  and  strengthens  his  whole 
mental  and  physical  being.  A  rush  of  energy  and  health 
filled  my  veins, — and  I  thanked  God  devoutly  for  the  golden 
opportunities  held  out  afresh  for  me  to  accept  and  use. 
Gratitude  there  should  be  in  every  human  soul  for  every  gift 
of  heaven, — but  nothing  merits  more  thankfulness  and  praise 
to  the  Creator  than  the  call  to  work,  and  the  ability  to  respond 
to  it. 

England  at  last  ! — I  bade  farewell  to  the  good  ship  that  had 
rescued  me  and  all  on  board  her,  most  of  whom  now  knew  my 
name  and  looked  upon  me  with  pity  as  well  as  curiosity.  The 
story  of  my  being  wrecked  on  a  friend's  yacht  was  readily 
accepted, — and  the  subject  of  that  adventure  was  avoided,  as 
the  general  impression  was  that  my  friend,  whoever  he  was, 
had  been  drowned  with  his  crew,  and  that  I  was  the  one 
survivor.  I  did  not  offer  any  further  explanation,  and  was 
content  to  so  let  the  matter  rest,  though  I  was  careful  to  send 
both  the  captain  and  the  ship's  doctor  a  handsome  recompense 
for  their  united  attention  and  kindness.  I  have  reason  to 
believe,  from  the  letters  they  wrote  me,  that  they  were  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  sums  received,  and  that  I  really  did 
some  actual  good  with  those  few  last  fragments  of  my  vanished 
wealth. 


466  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

On  reaching  London,  I  interviewed  the  police  concerning 
the  thieves  and  forgers,  Bentham  and  Ellis,  and  stopped  all 
proceedings  against  them. 

"  Call  me  mad  if  you  like,"  I  said  to  the  utterly  confounded 
chief  of  the  detective  force — "  I  do  not  mind  !  But  let  these 
rascals  keep  the  trash  they  have  stolen.  It  will  be  a  curse  to 
them,  as  it  has  been  to  me.  It  is  devil's  money  !  Half  of  it 
was  settled  on  my  late  wife, — at  her  death,  it  reverted  by  the 
same  deed  of  settlement,  to  any  living  members  of  her  family, 
and  now  belongs  to  Lord  Elton.  I  have  lived  to  make  a 
noble  Earl  rich,  who  was  once  bankrupt,  and  I  doubt  if  he 
would  lend  me  a  ten-pound-note  for  the  asking  !  However,  I 
shall  not  ask  him.  The  rest  has  gone  into  the  universal  waste 
of  corruption  and  sham — let  it  stay  there  !  I  shall  never 
bother  myself  to  get  it  back.     I  prefer  to  be  a  free  man." 

''But  the  bank, — the  principle  of  the  thing!"  exclaimed 
the  detective  with  indignation. 

I  smiled. 

"  Exactly  !  The  principle  of  the  thing  has  been  perfectly 
carried  out.  A  man  who  has  too  much  money  creates  forgers 
and  thieves  about  him, — he  cannot  expect  to  meet  with  honesty. 
Let  the  bank  prosecute  if  it  likes, — I  shall  not.  I  am  free  ! — 
free  to  work  for  my  living.  What  I  earn  I  shall  enjoy, — what 
I  inherited  I  have  learnt  to  loathe  !" 

With  that  I  left  him,  puzzled  and  irate, — and  in  a  day  or 
two  the  papers  were  full  of  strange  stories  concerning  me,  and 
numerous  lies  as  well.  I  was  called  'mad,'  'unprincipled,' 
'  thwarting  the  ends  of  justice,' — and  sundry  other  names, 
while  scurrilous  civilities  known  only  to  the  penny  paragraphist 
were  heaped  upon  me  by  the  score.  To  complete  my  entire 
satisfaction,  a  man  employed  on  the  staff  of  one  of  the  leading 
journals,  dug  out  my  book  from  Mudie's  underground  cellar, 
and  '  slashed'  it  with  a  bitterness  and  venom  only  excelled  by 
my  own  violence  when  anonymously  libelling  the  work  of 
Mavis  Clare  !  And  the  result  was  remarkable, — for  in  a  sud- 
den wind  of  caprice,  the  public  made  a  rush  for  my  neglected 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  467 

literary  offspring, — they  took  it  up,  handled  it  tenderly,  read 
it  lingeringly,  found  something  in  it  that  pleased  them,  and 
finally  bought  it  by  thousands  !  .  .  .  whereat  the  astute  Mor- 
geson,  as  virtuous  publisher,  wrote  to  me  in  wonder  and  con- 
gratulation, enclosing  a  check  for  a  hundred  pounds  on  '  roy- 
alties,' and  promising  more  in  due  course,  should  the  'run' 
continue.  Ah,  the  sweetness  of  that  earned  hundred  pounds  ! 
I  felt  a  king  of  independence  !  — realms  of  ambition  and  at- 
tainment opened  out  before  me, — life  smiled  upon  me  as  it 
had  never  smiled  before.  Talk  of  poverty  !  I  was  rich  ! — 
rich  with  a  hundred  pounds  made  out  of  my  own  brain-labour, 
— and  I  envied  no  millionaire  that  ever  flaunted  his  gold  be- 
neath the  sun  !  I  thought  of  Mavis  Clare,  .  .  .  but  dared  not 
dwell  too  long  upon  her  gentle  image.  In  time  perhaps,  .  .  . 
when  I  had  settled  down  to  fresh  work,  .  .  .  w^hen  I  had 
formed  my  life  as  I  meant  to  form  it,  in  the  habits  of  faith, 
firmness  and  unselfishness,  I  would  write  to  her  and  tell  her 
all, — all,  even  to  that  dread  insight  into  worlds  unseen  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  an  unknown  region  of  everlasting  frozen 
snow  !  But  now, — now  I  resolved  to  stand  alone, — fighting 
my  battle  as  a  man  should  fight,  seeking  for  neither  help  nor 
sympathy,  and  trusting  not  in  Self,  but  God  only.  Moreover 
I  could  not  induce  myself  yet  to  look  again  upon  Willows- 
mere.  The  place  was  terror-haunted  for  me;  and  though 
Lord  Elton  with  a  curious  condescension  (seeing  that  it  was 
to  me  he  owed  the  free  gift  of  his  former  property),  invited 
me  to  stay  there,  and  professed  a  certain  lame  regret  for  the 
*  heavy  financial  losses'  I  had  sustained,  I  saw  in  the  tone  of 
his  epistle  that  he  looked  upon  me  somewhat  in  the  light  of  a 
madman  after  my  refusal  to  take  up  the  matter  of  my  abscond- 
ing solicitors,  and  that  he  would  rather  I  stayed  away.  And 
I  did  stay  away ; — and  even  when  his  marriage  with  Diana 
Chesney  took  place  with  great  pomp  and  splendour,  I  refused 
his  invitation  to  be  present.  In  the  published  list  of  guests, 
however,  which  appeared  in  the  principal  papers,  I  was  scarcely 
surprised  to  read  the  name  of  '  Prince  Lucio  Rimanez.' 


468  THE    SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

I  now  took  a  humble  room  and  set  to  work  on  a  new 
literary  enterprise,  avoiding  e\eryone  I  had  hitherto  known, 
for  being  now  a  poor  man,  I  was  aware  that  'swagger  society' 
wished  to  blot  me  from  its  visiting-list.  I  lived  with  my 
thoughts, — musing  on  many  things,  training  myself  to  humility, 
obedience,  and  faith  with  fortitude, — and  day  by  day  I  did 
battle  with  the  monster,  Egotism,  that  presented  itself  in  a 
thousand  disguises  at  every  turn  in  my  own  life  as  well  as  in 
the  lives  of  others.  I  had  to  re-form  my  character, — to  mould 
the  obstinate  nature  that  rebelled,  and  make  its  obstinacy 
serve  for  the  attainment  of  higher  objects  than  world's  renown, 
— the  task  was  difficult, — but  I  gained  ground  a  little  with 
every  fresh  effort. 

I  had  lived  for  some  months  like  this  happily  enough,  when 
all  the  reading  world  was  suddenly  electrified  by  another  book 
of  Mavis  Clare's.  My  lately  favoured  first  work  was  again 
forgotten  and  thrust  aside, — hers,  slated  and  screamed  at  as 
usual  by  the  criticasters,  was  borne  along  to  fame  by  a  great 
wave  of  honest  public  praise  and  enthusiasm.  And  I  ?  I 
rejoiced — no  longer  grudging  or  envious  of  her  sweet  fame, 
I  stood  apart  in  spirit  as  it  were,  while  the  bright  car  of  her 
triumph  went  by,  decked,  not  only  with  laurels,  but  with  roses, 
— the  blossoms  of  a  people's  love  and  honour.  With  all  my 
soul  I  reverenced  her  genius, — with  all  my  heart  I  honoured 
her  pure  womanliness.  And  in  the  very  midst  of  her  brilliant 
success,  when  all  the  world  was  talking  of  her,  she  wrote  to 
me,  a  simple  little  letter,  as  gracious  as  her  own  fair  name. 

Dear  Mr  Tempest, 

I  heard  by  chance  the  other  day  that 
you  had  returned  to  England.  I  therefore  send  this  note  to 
the  care  of  your  publisher  to  express  my  sincere  delight  in  the 
success  your  clever  book  has  now  attained  after  its  interval  of 
probation.  I  fancy  the  public  appreciation  of  your  work  must 
go  far  to  console  you  for  the  great  losses  you  have  had  both 
in  life  and  fortune  of  which  I  will  not  here  speak.     When  you 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  469 

feel  that  you  can  bear  to  look  again  upon  scenes  which  I  know 
will  be  sure  to  rouse  in  your  mind  many  sad  and  poignant 
memories,  will  you  come  and  see  me  ? 

Your  friend 

Mavis  Clare. 

A  mist  came  before  my  eyes, — I  almost  felt  her  gentle 
presence  in  my  room, — I  saw  the  tender  look,  the  radiant 
smile, — the  innocent  yet  earnest  joy  of  life,  and  love  of  purity 
that  emanated  from  the  fair  personality  of  the  sweetest  woman 
I  had  ever  known.  She  called  herself  my  friend  !  ...  it 
was  a  privilege  of  which  I  felt  myself  unworthy.  I  folded  the 
letter  and  put  it  near  my  heart  to  serve  me  as  a  talisman,  .  .  . 
she,  of  all  bright  creatures  in  the  world  surely  knew  the  secret 
of  happiness  !  Some -day,  .  .  .  yes,  ...  I  would  go  and 
see  her,  .  .  .  my  Mavis  that  sang  in  her  garden  of  lilies, — 
some  day  when  I  had  force  and  manliness  enough  to  tell  her 
all, — save  my  love  for  her !  For  that,  I  felt,  must  never  be 
spoken, — Self  must  resist  Self,  and  clamour  no  more  at  the 
gate  of  a  forfeited  Paradise.  Some  day  I  would  see  her,  .  .  . 
but  not  for  a  long  time,  .  .  .  not  till  I  had,  in  part  at  least, 
worked  out  my  secret  expiation.  As  I  sat  musing  thus,  a 
strange  memory  came  into  my  brain,  ...  I  thought  I  heard 
a  voice  resembling  my  own  which  said — 

^^  Lift,  oh  lift  the  shrouding  veil ^  spirit  of  the  City  Beautiful  I 
For  I  feel  I  shall  read  in  your  eyes  the  secret  of  happiness  .^" 

A  cold  shudder  ran  through  me, — I  sprang  up  erect,  in  a 
kind  of  horror.  Leaning  at  my  open  window  I  looked  down 
into  the  busy  street  below, — and  my  thoughts  reverted  to  the 
strange  things  I  had  seen  in  the  East, — the  face  of  the  dead 
Egyptian  dancer,  uncovered  to  the  light  again  after  two  thou- 
sand years, — the  face  of  Sibyl  !  .  .  .  then  I  remembered  the 
vision  of  the  '  City  Beautiful,'  in  which  one  face  had  re- 
mained veiled, — the  face  I  most  desired  to  see  ! and  I 

trembled  more  and  more  as  my  mind,  despite  my  will,  began 
to  weave  together  links  of   the  past  and  present,  till  they 

40 


470  THE   SORROWS  OF   SATAN 

seemed  growing  into  one  and  the  same.     Was  I  again  to  be 

the  prey  of  evil   forces? did  some  new  danger  threaten 

me? — had  I,  by  some  unconscious  wicked  wish  invited  new 
temptation  to  assail  me  ?  Overcome  by  my  sensations,  I  left 
my  work  and  went  out  into  the  fresh  air,  .  .  .it  was  late  at 
night, — and  the  moon  was  shining.  I  felt  for  the  letter  of 
Mavis, — it  pressed  against  my  heart,  a  shield  against  all  vile- 
ness.  The  room  I  occupied  was  in  a  house  not  far  from 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  I  instinctively  bent  my  steps  towards 
that  grey  old  shrine  of  kings  and  poets  dead.  The  square 
around  it  was  almost  deserted, 1  slackened  my  pace,  stroll- 
ing meditatively  along  the  narrow  paved  way  that  forms  a 
short  cut  across  into  Old  Palace  Yard,  .  .  .  when  suddenly 
a  dark  Shadow  crossed  my  path,  and  looking  up,  T  came  face 
to  face  with Lucio  !  The  same  as  ever, — the  perfect  im- 
personation of  perfect  manhood  !  .   .   .   his  countenance,  pale, 

proud,  sorrowful  yet  scornful,  flashed  upon  me  like  a  star  ! 

he  looked  full  at  me,  and  a  questioning  smile  rested  on  his 
lips.  My  heart  almost  stopped  beating,  ...  I  drew  a  quick 
sharp  breath,  .  .  .  again  I  felt  for  the  letter  of  Mavis,  and 
then,  .  .  .  meeting  his  gaze  fixedly  and  straightly  in  my  turn, 
I  moved  slowly  on  in  silence.  He  understood, — his  eyes 
flashed  with  the  jewel-like  strange  brilliancy  I  knew  so  well, 
and  so  well  remembered  ! — and  drawing  back,  he  stood  aside 
and — let  me  pass  !  I  continued  my  walk  steadily,  though 
dazed  and  like  one  in  a  dream, — till  reaching  the  shadowed 
side  of  the  street  opposite  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  I  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  recover  my  startled  senses.     There  again  I 

saw  him  ! the  superb  Man's  form, — the  Angel's  face, — the 

haunting,  splendid  sorrowful  eyes  ! he  came  with  his  usual 

ease  and  grace  of  step  into  the  full  moonlight  and  paused, — 
apparently  waiting  for  some  one.  For  me? — ah  no  ! — I  kept 
the  name  of  God  upon  my  lips, — I  gathered  all  the  strength 
of  faith  within  my  soul, — and  though  I  was  wholesomely 
afraid  of  Myself,  I  feared  no  other  foe  !  I  lingered  therefore 
— watching  ; — and  presently  I  saw  a  few  members  of  Parliament 


THE   SORROWS   OF   SATAN  471 

walking  singly  and  in  groups  towards  ihe  House, — one  or  two 
greeted  the  tall  dark  Figure  as  a  friend  and  familiar,  and 
others  knew  him  not.  Still  he  waited  on,  .  .  .  and  so  did  I. 
At  last,  just  as  '  Big  Ben'  chimed  the  quarter  to  eleven,  one 
man  whom  I  instantly  recognised  as  a  well-known  Cabinet 
minister  came  walking  briskly  towards  the  House,  .  .  .  then, 
and  then  only,  He  whom  I  had  known  as  Lucio,  advanced 
smiling.  Greeting  the  minister  cordially,  in  that  musical  rich 
voice  I  knew  of  old,  he  took  his  arm, — and  they  both  walked 
on,  talking  earnestly.  I  watched  them  till  their  figures  re- 
ceded in  the  moonlight,  .  .  .  the  one  tall,  kingly  and  com- 
manding, ...  the  other  burly  and  broad  and  self-assertive  in 
demeanour  ; — I  saw  them  ascend  the  steps,  and  finally  disap- 
pear within  the  House  of  England's  Imperial  Government, — 
Devil  and  Man, — together  ! 


The  End. 


J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY'S 
PUBLICATIONS  BY 
POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


BY 


Anne  Hollingsworth  Wharton. 


Through  Colonial  Doorways. 

With  a  number  of  colonial  illustrations  from  drawings  specially  made 
for  the  work,     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  It  is  a  pleasant  retrospect  of  fashionable  New  York  and  Philadelphia 
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Hundred  even  in  those  days,  and  some  of  them  were  Whigs  and  some  were 
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limit.  And  this  little  book  tells  us  about  the  belles  of  the  Philadelphia  meschi- 
anza,  who  they  were,  how  they  dressed,  and  how  they  flirted  with  Major  Andre 
and  other  officers  in  Sir  William  Howe's  wicked  employ." — Philadelphia  Record. 


'-iV^-'i;;'.' 


Colonial  Days  and  Dames. 

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she  has  made  them  so  charming  that  it  is  as  if  she  had  taken  dried  roses  from  an 
old  album  and  freshened  them  into  bloom  and  perfume.  Each  slight  paragraph 
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are  pretty  suggestions  as  to  how  and  why  such  letters  were  written,  with  hints  of 
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matters  in  colonial  families." — Pittsburg  Bulletin. 


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J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY,  Publishers, 

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MISS  CAREY'S  STORIES 
FOR  GIRLS. 

LITTLE  MISS  MUFFET. 
COUSIN  MONA. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  illustrated,  $1.25  per  volume. 

The  two  above  volumes,  in  box,  $2.50. 

With  great  descriptive  power,  considerable  and  often  quiet  fun, 
there  is  a  delicacy  and  tenderness,  a  knowledge  and  strength  of 
purpose,  combined  with  so  much  fertility  of  resource  and  originality 
that  the  interest  never  flags,  and  the  sensation  on  putting  down  any 
of  her  works  is  that  of  having  dwelt  in  a  thoroughly  healthy  atmos- 
phere. 

MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 
AUNT  DIANA.  ESTHER. 

OUR  BESSIE.  AVERIL. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25  per  volume. 

Five  volumes,  uniform  binding,  in  neat  box,  $6.25. 

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Authors  and  Their  Works, 


MRS.   A.   L.   WISTER. 


Translations  from  the  German, 

$i.oo  per  volume. 


Countess  Erika's  Apprenticeship.    By  Ossip  Scliubin. 
**0  Thou,  My  Austria  I"     By  Ossip  Scliubin. 
Erlach  Court.     By  Ossip  Scliubin. 
The  Alpine  Fay.     By  E.  Werner. 

^  The  Owl's  Nest.     By  E.  Marlitt. 

^         Picked  Up  in  the  Streets.     By  H.  Scliobert. 

^  Saint  Michael.     By  E-  Werner. 

Violetta.     By  Ursula  Zoge  von  Manieufel. 
The  Lady  with  the  Rubies.    By  E.  Marlitt. 
Vain  Forebodings.     By  E.  Oswald. 
A  Penniless  Girl.     By  W.  Heimburg. 
Quicksands.     By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

Countess  Qisela.     By  E.  Marlitt. 

^  At  the  Councillor's.     By  E.  Marlitt. 

^         The  Second  Wife.     By  E.  Marlitt. 

The  Old  Mam'selle's  Secret.     By  E.  Marlitt. 
Gold  Elsie.     By  E.  Marlitt. 
The  Little  Moorland  Princess.    By  E.  Marlitt. 
Banned  and  Blessed.     By  E.  Werner. 
A  Noble  Name.     By  Claire  von  Gliiiuer. 


Authors  and  Their  Works. 


MRS.   WiSTER'S  TRANSLATIONS. 

Continued. 

From  Hand  to  Hand.     By  Golo  Raimund. 
Severa.     By  E.  Hartner. 
A  New  Race.     By  Golo  Raimund. 
The  Eichhofs.     By  Moritz  von  Reichenbach. 
Castle  Hohenwald.     By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 
Margarethe.     By  E.  Juucker. 

^  Too  Rich.     By  Adolph  Streckfuss. 

^         A  Family  Feud.     By  Ludwig  Harder. 
The  Green  Gate.     By  Ernst  Wichert. 
Only  a  Girl.     By  Wilhelmine  von  Hillern. 
Why  Did  He  Not  Die.     By  Ad.  von  Volckhauser. 
Hulda.     By  Fanny  Lewald. 
The  Bailiff's  Maid.     By  E.  Marlitt. 
In  the  Schillingscourt.     By  E.  Marlitt. 

"Mrs.  A.  It.  Wister,  through  her  many  translations  of  novels 
from  the  German,  has  established  a  reputation  of  the  highest  order 
for  literary  judgment,  and  for  a  long  time  her  name  upon  the  title- 
page  of  such  a  translation  has  been  a  suflScient  guarantee  to  the 
lovers  of  fiction  of  a  pure  and  elevating  character,  that  the  novel 
would  be  a  cherished  home  favorite.  This  faith  in  Mrs.  Wister  is 
fully  justified  by  the  fact  that  among  her  more  than  thirty  transla- 
tions that  have  been  published  by  Lippincott's  there  has  not  been 
a  single  disappointment.  And  to  the  exquisite  judgment  of  selec- 
tion is  to  be  added  the  rare  excellence  of  her  translations,  which 
has  commanded  the  admiration  of  literary  and  linguistic  scholars." 
— Boston  Home  Journal. 


J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia 


Authors  and  Their  Works, 


JULIEN  GORDON. 


"Now  and  then,  to  prove  to  men^perhaps  also  to  prove  to 
themselves — what  they  can  do  if  they  dare  and  will,  one  of  these 
gifted  women  detaches  herself  from  her  sisters,  enters  the  arena 
with  men,  to  fight  for  the  highest  prizes,  and  as  the  brave  Gotz 
says  of  Brother  Martin,  'shames  many  a  knight.^  To  this  race 
of  conquerors  belongs  to-day  one  of  the  first  living  writers  of 
novels  and  romances,  fulien  Gordon.'''' 

FRIED  RICH  SPIELHAGEN. 


Poppsea. 

A  Diplomat's  Diary. 
A  Successful  Man. 
Vampires,  and  Mademoiselle  Reseda, 

Two  stories  in  one  book. 
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In  her  former  story  the  dialogue  is  pointed  and  alert,  the  characters 
are  clear-cut  and  distinct,  and  the  descriptions  picturesque.  As 
for  the  main  idea  of  'A  Successful  Man,'  the  intersection  of  two 
wholly  different  strata  of  American  life, — one  fast  and  fashionable, 
the  other  domestic  and  decorous, — it  is  worked  out  with  much  skill 
and  alertness  of  treatment  to  its  inevitably  tragic  issue." — N.  Y. 
World.  

J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia. 


Authors  and  Their  Works, 


MY   PARIS   NOTE=BOOK. 

i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.25. 


"Victor  Emanuel,  the  members  of  the  Comedie  Fran^aise.  Er- 
nest Renan,  Paul  de  Kock,  MacMahon,  Thiers,  Grevy  and  his  wife, 
Ferry,  Freycinet,  Boulang-er  and  Mme.  de  Bonnemain,  SkobelefF, 
Clemenceau,  Gambetta,  Brisson,  Goblet,  Floquet,  Cassagnac,  surely 
these  are  names  to  conjure  with,  and  it  is  of  these  notables  that 
Mr.  Vandam  tells  us  at  length  in  his  spicy,  gossipy  style.  Verily 
his  note-book  is  a  mine  of  wealth,  and  all  will  hope  that  he  will 
open  it  once  more  and  many  times." — Cincinnati  Tribxme. 

"The  author  of  that  much-talked-of  book,  'An  Englishman  in 
Paris,'  has  written  another,  which  will  create  as  great  an  interest 
as  the  first.  The  book  is  a  fund  of  enjoyment  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  any  one  who  takes  it  up  will  find  himself  interested." — 
Boston  Times. 

"This  new  volume  by  the  author  of  'An  Englishman  in  Paris.' 
is  one  of  the  most  readable  of  the  books  of  the  year.  It  abounds 
in  the  brightest  of  sketches,  in  the  most  interesting  of  gossip,  in 
the  most  vivid  of  descriptions  of  the  altogether  unique  Paris  under 
the  third  republic." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"The  book,  which  comes  to  us  from  the  Lippincotts,  is  fully  as 
entertaining  as  its  predecessor,  and  is  quite  as  rich  in  illustrative 
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quaintance of  Renan,  Paul  de  Kock,  Thiers,  Jules  Grevy, — in  a 
word,  the  most  interesting  phases  of  recent  and  contemporary 
French  life  are  exposed  to  us  by  one  who  has  known  the  boulevards 
for  almost  forty  years,  and  who  has  had,  besides,  the  use  of  certain 
valuable  reminiscences  recorded  by  two  maternal  granduncles,  who 
lived  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Napoleon  III." — Philadelphia 
Press. 


J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia, 


Authors  and  Their  Works. 


Captain  Charles  King,  u.s.a, 


Under  Fire.     Ilhistrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

The  Colonel's  Daughter.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

Marian's  Faith.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

Captain  Blake.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

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Kitty's  Conquest.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

Starlight  Ranch,  and  Other  Stories.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

Laramie;  or.  The  Queen  of  Bedlam.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

The  Deserter,  and  From  the  Ranks.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

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Captain  Close,  and  Sergeant  Croesus.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

EDITOR  OF 

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JO  cents. 


From  the  lowest  soldier  to  the  highest  officer,  from  the  servant  to  the 
master,  there  is  not  a  character  in  any  of  Captain  King's  novels  that  is 
not  wholly  in  keeping  with  expressed' sentiments.  There  is  not  a  move- 
ment made  on  the  field,  not  a  break  from  the  ranks,  not  an  offence 
against  the  military  code  of  discipline,  and  hardly  a  heart-beat  that 
escapes  his  watchfulness." — Boston  Herald. 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,   PHILADELPHIA. 


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